


Found

by RelaySoul



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cover Art, Fluff, Hubrishipping if you squint, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jounouchi has a potty mouth, Loosely Based on Manga Canon, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Yami Bakura (past), Yami Malik also has a potty mouth, past thiefshipping, post dsod
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelaySoul/pseuds/RelaySoul
Summary: An overdue remodel of Kaiba Land’s Death-T brings Malik Ishtar back to Domino City five years after the events of the Ceremonial Battle. Despite his best efforts to move forward, echoes of past mistakes continue to shadow his every step, sowing seeds of suspicion and distrust within his circle of friends. However, his unusual living arrangements and budding friendship with one Katsuya Jounouchi might be just what he needs to break free from lingering regrets.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou & Marik Ishtar, Kaiba Seto & Yami Marik, Marik Ishtar & Kaiba Seto, Marik Ishtar & Yami Marik, Marik Ishtar/Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, irateshipping - Relationship
Comments: 59
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning to my home fandom after nearly a decade of absence? Check. Diving right back into my first ever OTP and binge reading every fic I could find in 6 weeks? Double check. Plotting and writing a slow burn featuring my rarepair? Triple deluxe check.
> 
> Call me Rae, I’ve been a Malik Ishtar apologist since 2003 and the absolute disaster that is 2020 has sent me crawling back.
> 
> I commissioned the lovely artwork used in my cover from [@GOMA_yammy](https://twitter.com/GOMA_yammy)!

  
  


* * *

  
“Damn it! How the hell’s there so much traffic on a Thursday!?”

Jounouchi rolled down his window and stuck his head outside, craning his neck to get a better sense of how many cars were still ahead of him. Three more to go, and he was ‘only’ 45 minutes late. He supposed that wasn’t _too_ bad; Malik would probably be busy taking a very thorough trip through security, not to mention customs and currency exchange. In fact, Jounouchi wouldn’t be surprised if he were still waiting to get off the plane — disembarking usually took ages, right? 

Right.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

A playful chime brought Jounouchi’s attention to his phone, a new text notification scrolling slowly on his screen.

> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ****[14:39]** _hey, sorry if i made you wait. just wanted to let you know i’m at the arrival gate :o)_

Everything was not fine. And what the hell was with that emoji? 

Jounouchi drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as the first car finally drove off and the queue slowly inched forward. He browsed through his music playlists as a distraction from the excruciating wait, glancing up occasionally to see if the car ahead of him had pulled forward yet. 

After ten minutes of no movement, he stuck his head out of the window again to see what could possibly be taking so long. For all he knew, someone in the first car was giving birth and he was simply being an impatient asshole. Fortunately (or unfortunately), no one was in labour; their clerk just happened to be a very, _very_ chatty individual. Jounouchi groaned and fell back into his seat, using every shred of patience to stop himself from doing anything he’d regret. 

Another chime, another text.

> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ****[14:55]** _are you here yet or did you already leave? i didn’t give you the wrong pick up time, did i? sorry :o(_

Jounouchi reached for his phone and quickly messaged back; that sad face was amazingly effective at making him feel guilty. 

> **Jounouchi Katsuya** **  
> ****[14:56]** _still omw!! the queue for parking’s backed up lol. sit tight, i’ll be there asap!!_

Back out the window.

“Hey, let’s keep it moving! Some of us have places to be!” Jounouchi yelled, resting his elbow on the horn to be extra annoying. “Give them the pass already! No one cares about what you had for breakfast!”

His outburst was immediately followed by a chorus of agreement from the other cars stuck behind him, making Jounouchi feel a little less like a tool. The clerk reluctantly ended his conversation and waved the car through, earning a celebratory round of applause from the other stranded drivers. Jounouchi gleefully closed the gap and waited for the last car to pass, reaching the front after what felt like an eternity. He ignored the clerk’s disgruntled expression and took his parking slip with the most obnoxious grin, giving the older man a salute as he sped onto the lot.

Jounouchi swerved into the first available parking space and attempted to bolt from the car, only to be half-strangled by his seatbelt. He managed to free himself with some creative twisting and turning, though simply _unbuckling_ it would have saved him the effort. Jounouchi grabbed his messenger bag from the passenger’s seat before slamming the door closed, clicking the locks shut twice for good measure. He took a deep breath and checked his hair in the window’s reflection, making sure he looked more stylishly dishevelled than...normally dishevelled. Satisfied, he headed for the airport, once again sending Malik a quick text to assure him he was on his way. 

> **Jounouchi Katsuya** _  
> _**[15:08]** _just parked, should be there soon_

> **Malik Ishtar** _  
> _**[15:09]** _cool. i’ll be waiting :o)_

In the five years following Yuugi’s Ceremonial Battle, Jounouchi hadn’t seen much of Malik or his older sister; most of his contact with the Ishtar siblings had been through the unexpected, but entirely welcome friendship that had grown between him and Rishid. Without the added stress of an overly complicated revenge plot, Jounouchi found the guy pretty chill and easy to talk to. Despite Rishid growing up in what Jounouchi understood as an underground death cult, they shared a lot of common interests and values, especially when it came to the importance of family. He was also great at giving advice, though Jounouchi suspected that had more to do with the iron clad patience he’d developed after having to deal with Malik for so many years.

It was during one of their regular video chats that he’d learnt Malik was planning to return to Japan for a recent job opportunity, however he was too embarrassed (or too proud) to ask for any help with housing. Rishid suspected his younger brother had some lingering guilt over the chaos he’d caused during Battle City, which Jounouchi thought was something to be expected. Regardless of the circumstances, Malik had caused them a _lot_ of pain, both physically and emotionally. Both Mai and Honda had refused to forgive him, criticising Yuugi for letting Malik off the hook so easily. Hell, Jounouchi himself thought he’d hold a grudge for the rest of his life – it wasn’t until he’d gotten to ‘know’ Malik through Rishid that he considered giving him a second chance.

Granted, he _probably_ should have started by sending them a nice fruit basket instead of offering to share his home with the youngest Ishtar sibling. He regretted his offer as soon as he’d said it, but the pure gratitude that bloomed over Rishid’s hardened features made Jounouchi hold his tongue. Before he could say anything else, Rishid was already piling on the thanks and had even cut their chat short to call Isis and tell her the good news. Jounouchi needed a few stiff drinks to dull his mounting panic, convinced that he’d made a huge mistake; Malik _had_ tried to kill him after all. 

_Twice_. 

Though, if Rishid’s lovingly biased tales of the family’s recent escapades were anything to go on, his precious baby brother was difficult at best and insufferable at worst, both of which were a massive improvement over ‘unhinged’ and ‘murderous.’ 

He was still going to keep the local police on speed dial in case things got a little hairy.

After clearing a lengthy security check, Jounouchi sprinted halfway across the airport, weaving in and out of the undulating sea of bodies before reaching Malik’s arrival gate. He passed the overhead sign and staggered to a halt, taking a few moments to catch his breath, trying not to be too embarrassed at his apparent lack of stamina.

Hastily wiping away the pinpricks of sweat that were beginning to form on his brow, Jounouchi began his search, once again braving the massive wave of tourists that clearly had no idea where they were going. He’d considered making a cheesy cardboard sign on the off chance it helped Malik find him faster, but ultimately decided to save them both the awkwardness.

Jounouchi stayed close to the walls, lips pursed in concentration as he scanned the crowd for a familiar face, fully aware that he looked like an idiot bobbing up and down like an overgrown groundhog. Tired of the bewildered stares he was receiving, Jounouchi climbed onto an empty bench in hopes of finding Malik from above, spotting the Egyptian partially hidden behind a large potted plant. He was sorting through his travel documents while also attempting to use his phone and didn’t seem to be faring too well on either front.

Annoyed that his new houseguest was already making things difficult, albeit unintentionally, Jounouchi hopped down and made a beeline for Malik’s hiding spot. 

He cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath.

“Yo, Ishtar!” 

Startled, Malik let out a noise that was something between a gasp and a squeak, his phone sliding out of his already loose grasp. Jounouchi paled and rushed forward to catch the device before it landed, not wanting their strange reunion to start off on the wrong foot. However, Malik apparently valued the phone more than his personal information and immediately abandoned his papers as he also dove to catch it, noticing Jounouchi far too late.

Amber met lilac as the two former enemies slammed into each other, cutting Jounouchi’s string of expletives short. To add irony to insult, Malik’s case actually worked as advertised and protected the device from shattering into a million pieces once it hit the floor. The phone landed with a dull thud, Malik’s half-written text to Isis still visible on its screen.

Jounouchi slowly got to his feet and shook his head, blinking away the stars dotting his vision. He saw Malik a few steps away, feverishly checking his phone for damage. Jounouchi noted a fresh bruise on the other blonde’s forehead and instinctively reached up to check if he had one to match — his curiosity was answered with a sharp pulse of pain. He walked over to the forgotten travel documents and, after double-checking to make sure they weren’t about to literally butt heads again, picked them up, waving the stack in front of Malik’s face as he was finishing up his last text. 

“Still as hard-headed as ever, huh?”

Malik paused and looked up at Jounouchi with a wry smile, finally acknowledging his presence. He snatched the papers and tucked them under his arm.

“Nice to see you too, Jounouchi.”

He hadn’t grown since they’d last seen each other, Jounouchi noted, remembering how they once stood eye to eye. Malik’s hair was longer now – long enough for it to be pulled into a proper ponytail at least – and from the look of his current outfit, his odd sense of fashion remained intact.

The biggest difference was probably how well-rested he appeared; the hard lines and dark shadows caused by a burden he was forced to carry were nowhere to be seen, and Jounouchi was struck by just how _pretty_ Malik was. It was the same sort of raw attractiveness that Otogi possessed, though he couldn’t imagine Malik sauntering up to a group of girls and asking them if they wanted to play his neat new dice game.

“You uh…you look good.”

“Really? Because I slept the whole flight and I’m pretty sure I drooled all over the guy next to me.”

“Hey, if he didn’t wake you up that means he probably liked it.” Jounouchi snickered as Malik’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “But no, seriously, it’s good to see you, man.” 

“Ditto. And thanks so much for letting me stay with you. When Rishid told me that you’d offered, I thought he was joking,” Malik said, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, no offense, but I sort of got the feeling that you still hated me. You know. Because you should.”

Jounouchi laughed a little too readily at that, causing Malik to raise an eyebrow.

“Nah, all that stuff’s water under the bridge.”

Malik looked like he wanted to say something else, but let the topic drop with a dismissive shrug. After putting away his travel papers, he continued to dig through his overloaded suitcase, shoving aside layers of clothing and pulling out a small wooden box. He stared at it for a while before holding it out to Jounouchi.

“Here. Rishid wanted me to give this to you. I have no idea what’s in it, but he says you’ll like it.” 

“Oh, _sweet!_ ”

Jounouchi eagerly took the gift and held it up to his ear, giving it a gentle shake as if that would somehow reveal what was inside. He’d always felt the months between his birthday and Christmas were severely lacking in presents, so this was a very welcome change of pace. Jounouchi considered opening it right then and there, but carefully slipped it into his bag instead, just in case it was something inappropriate to carry around in public.

...Not that Rishid would ever put him in that sort of situation, but better safe than sorry.

“He always gets super excited when you call,” Malik said, playing idly with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “He’d even tell us ahead of time when you guys had one planned so we wouldn’t bother him. It’s like the nicest way anyone’s ever told me to fuck off,” he grinned. “Not to get all mushy or anything, but I think you’re the first real friend he’s ever had.”

Jounouchi smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. “Heh. That’s a shame. Your brother’s a good guy.”

“Better than I am?”

“You said it, not me.”

Malik pouted.

“Anyway, we should probably get going,” Jounouchi said, checking his wristwatch. “My free parking slip’s only good for two hours and I had to spend most of that tracking you down.”

“I wasn’t about to stand in the middle of a walkway,” Malik argued, pulling up the handle on his rolling suitcase and following Jounouchi towards the exit. “You were late anyway.”

“I told you, the line to get in was backed up into the main road! The guy at the ticket booth wanted everyone passing through to know his personal stance on French onion soup or something.”

“...Well, what was it?”

“What was what?”

“His personal stance on French onion soup?” Malik asked. “I mean, if he was telling _everyone_ coming into the airport, then it must have been a controversial opinion, right? Does he not melt the gruyere? Is he against using shallots? Does he add garlic? Meat? Enquiring minds want to know.”

“You’re a little jackass, you know that?” Jounouchi grumbled, yanking Malik’s hood over his head.  
  


* * *

  
Despite Malik’s best efforts, Jounouchi refused to let him drive his beloved car back to the apartment, insisting it would somehow know someone else was at the wheel and immediately crash itself into the nearest light post in protest. Having no reason (or energy) to doubt the car’s apparent sentience, Malik took his seat on the passenger’s side and allowed himself a much-needed stretch before making himself comfortable.

Once on the road, he quietly watched the wide green fields surrounding the airport slowly give way to the shining silvers and neon lights of Domino City. He hadn’t gotten to see much of the area during his first visit, having chosen instead to hang around the pier and prowl through Domino’s dark alleyways making questionable alliances with morally bankrupt spirits. 

...Gods he was such a stupid kid.

“So, what’ve you been up to?” Jounouchi asked, breaking the silence. “Rishid’s been light on the details, but I heard you were working with your sister at her museum?”

Malik nodded, still staring out the window. “For the past year, yeah. Nothing too interesting; I helped out with archiving and translations and stuff.”

“Seems pretty important.”

“You’d think so,” he said, sounding deader than the flattened squirrel they zoomed past.

Jounouchi chewed lightly on his bottom lip, concerned by Malik’s sudden change in tone. “Oh. ...Well, what about before that?”

The other blond immediately brightened. “I worked at a local auto shop with Rishid. The owner started me off as a cashier, but he let me out back to work on the bikes after some gentle persuasion.”

“Okay, I’m not liking how you phrased that,” Jounouchi chuckled, shaking his head. “But how’d it go? Can’t exactly picture you in a garage getting motor oil all over your eyelashes.”

“So, does that mean you’ve imagined _other_ people getting oil all over themselves?” Malik asked incredulously. 

“What? No! I— Damn it, you know what I meant,” Jounouchi growled, cheeks glowing red with embarrassment as Malik cackled from his seat. 

It took a while for Malik to regain his composure, but Jounouchi was relieved to see that he wasn’t as closed off anymore. “It was pretty great, actually; I loved it. Rishid still works there.”

“Really? Why’d you leave then?”

At this, Malik sighed and went back to gazing out the window. “According to Isis, it was a waste of my potential,” he said, and Jounouchi could practically hear his eyes rolling. “Don’t exactly know what that means, though. It’s not like there are thousands of job opportunities lined up for someone who’s never been to school.”

“It’s like she thought the job was beneath you or something,” Jounouchi frowned. He never did like the idea that practical skills were somehow less valuable than anything you needed to learn in a classroom. “Did she make you quit?”

“Pretty much. I tried talking to her, but it became this huge stupid _thing_ and I didn’t think it was worth the headache,” Malik said, now fully slumped against the backrest. “So, I worked at the museum to shut her up and now I’ve been scouted for a job back here.” He scoffed. “Life’s weird like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What about you?” Malik asked, turning to Jounouchi. “Do you and the others still hang out?”

“Sure do! Well, most of us,” he clarified. “Anzu’s off studying at some high-end dance school in New York and Honda’s usually too busy shadowing his dad at the factory. ...You remember Honda, right? Honda Hiroto?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Malik said, shaking his head.

Jounouchi _had_ to laugh at that — Honda was one of the very few that hadn’t forgiven Malik for what happened during Battle City, and the guy didn’t even know who he was. Classic. 

“No worries,” he said, noticing Malik’s confusion. “I don’t think you met him back then; he wasn’t a duelist or anything.”

“Oh, then yeah, I don’t think we would’ve spoken. I was kind of preoccupied, so…” 

He trailed off, weaving the end of his ponytail through his thin fingers. It was impossible to talk about Jounouchi’s friends without also mentioning Battle City, as they hadn’t had much time to chit-chat during the group’s visit to Egypt. Still, it felt strange to talk about something so life-changing for him with such a casual tone. It had taken the Ishtar siblings almost a year to unpack everything that happened over just two days.

“Are Ryou and Yuugi still around?” Malik asked, hoping to change the subject.

“They’re in town,” Jounouchi nodded, checking his phone to make sure they were still headed the right way. He didn’t drive out to the airport too often and was still woefully unfamiliar with this part of the city. “Yuugi travels a lot for his job but Ryou usually stays put; we go to the same university.”

“Oh, I heard about that!” Malik said excitedly, scooting towards the edge of his seat. “Yuugi won some huge game design competition in Germany a few years ago, right?”

“Yup! KaibaCorp needs to watch their back — someday Mutouzon’s gonna overtake them as the biggest gaming corporation in the nation! Maybe the world!”

“...Is that seriously what he named it?”

“Nah, just something I made up.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

“Speaking of the crew,” Jounouchi said, turning off the main road to enter a small residential area. “All of us were thinking of meeting up tomorrow to celebrate your grand return to Domino. Interested?”

“Maybe. Who’s coming?” Malik asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

“It’d be a small group — probably Yuugi, Ryou, and Otogi. ...D’you know Otogi Ryuuji?”

Malik thought back as far as his brain would allow, eventually bowing his head in apology.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jounouchi said reassuringly, clapping a hand against Malik’s shoulder. “Now you’ve got all the time in the world to get to know everyone.”  
  


* * *

  
Jounouchi’s apartment was located a block away from a popular shopping district, and with that convenience came a price tag to match. Most of the prize money he won from tournaments went towards rent, and any leftovers were set aside just in case another Duel Disk model was dropped. Lately, it seemed like upgrades to the device were coming out at an even faster rate than before. Duel Monsters was starting to become an expensive hobby, no doubt due to having a bajillionaire like Seto Kaiba as the game’s poster boy.

The building had three floors and zero elevators, much to Malik’s despair. He instantly regretted bringing so much _stuff_ as his muscles struggled against the dead weight of all his luggage, thankful that he only had to make this trip twice — today, and the day he went home. Jounouchi watched with a sort of guilty amusement as the Egyptian slowly hauled his things up the last few steps; he’d offered his help as soon as they got out of the car, but Malik refused, his pride once again getting in the way of practicality.

“Thirsty?” Jounouchi teased, offering his half-emptied water bottle.

“Shut up,” Malik said, too tired to do more than shoot the blond a half-hearted glare. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, downing the rest of the water.

Jounouchi fished out the keys from deep inside his messenger bag and opened the door, backing away with a mock bow as he allowed his guest the first step inside. Not sure if Jounouchi was still making fun of him, Malik huffed softly and walked into the first room, which was actually more of a hallway. He slipped off his shoes and placed them into one of the convenient cubby holes by the door, padding quietly past a small laundry nook into what he assumed was the living room. Jounouchi followed closely behind, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“Wow. It’s…” Malik hesitated, looking around the space with wide lilac eyes. “It’s _so..._ ”

Jounouchi braced himself for the insult that was sure to follow after the long pause. He’d like to think that his modest apartment was a few tiers above a literal hole in the ground, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Malik had forced his way into several ritzy hotels during his time as a teenage crime lord. Hell, he couldn’t really blame the guy for it – going from having less than nothing to having anything you could ever want was a temptation few could resist. 

“Boring!” Malik said, turning to Jounouchi and practically vibrating with excitement. “There’s literally _nothing_ interesting about anything here! It’s so dull!”

Jounouchi stared back at him, mouth slightly agape.

There was nothing positive in what Malik had said. Absolutely nothing. But he was so damned happy about it. What the hell?

He forced out an awkward chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets while Malik continued to gleefully insult his humble living arrangements. Reformed or not, Jounouchi couldn’t deny the mounting urge to punch some better manners into him.

“Gotta admit Ishtar, I’m not exactly sure whether to thank you or throw you out on your ass,” he said, praying his smile didn’t look as strained as it felt.

“No, wait,” Malik said quickly, suddenly realising his poor choice in words. “I didn’t mean that as an insult! It’s just that I’ve never lived in a normal house before,” he explained, his grin returning. “Rishid and I have been living with Isis, and even though her place is technically ‘normal,’ she’s got a bunch of artifacts and stuff hanging all over the walls because of her job. It’s above ground, obviously, but it still kind of has that musty old catacomb feeling, you know?”

Jounouchi laughed, considerably more at ease. “Actually, I don’t. But uh, thanks, I guess? I’ve been living on my own for a while now and I’m pretty proud of myself for not turning this place into a complete pigsty.”

Yet.

“So that means you’re open to cleaning up my messes too, right?”

“Keep pushing your luck Ishtar, I wasn’t kidding about throwing you out.”

“Seriously? I thought _you_ of all people would know how to take a joke,” Malik grumbled, letting his rucksack slowly slip off his shoulder. “I’m the _perfect_ roommate, promise. I’ve got two older siblings who can vouch for me.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need some references that aren’t related to you first,” Jounouchi snorted, leaning over to grab the handle on Malik’s rolling suitcase. “I’ll give you the grand tour after we drop all your stuff off. Now, uh, to be honest, the bedroom situation might take some getting used to,” he said nervously, leading Malik to the sliding doors at the end of the hallway. “I thought about letting you set up in the living room every night, but I figured you’d probably want something a little more private…right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Malik shrugged, picking up his bag. “I mean, you’re already doing me a huge favour by letting me stay with you, so—”

“Nah, no worries man,” Jounouchi said, waving away his concern. “I had Honda and Otogi come by last weekend to help me set up the walk-in closet.”

“A…closet?”

“Yup!” the blond grinned, opening the door. “The only issue is that you’ve gotta walk through my bedroom to get to it. I’m a pretty heavy sleeper though, so unless you’re banging on pots and pans while coming in, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Malik raised an eyebrow but quietly followed Jounouchi into his bedroom, wondering if it was as bare bones as the rest of the apartment. Though there were a few band posters plastered onto the walls, the most colourful item in the room was a green quilted blanket covering Jounouchi’s futon, which was surrounded by a messy spread of textbooks and loose papers. A small lap desk with a laptop was set up near the foot — Malik supposed this was where Jounouchi did his homework.

On the opposite side of the room was a wooden dresser with an assortment of trophies and plaques displayed on top — most were coloured bronze or silver, but a closer look revealed a few golds in the mix.

Malik found it oddly comforting to know that Jounouchi had continued to pursue Duel Monsters at a professional level; he himself hadn’t bothered to use his deck for anything more than a casual match against Isis in the museum’s breakroom. He’d heard through the grapevine that the game’s mechanics had become increasingly more convoluted over the years, so maybe it was for the best that he’d lost all interest after surrendering his precious Winged Dragon of Ra.

And then there was the whole ‘almost dying’ thing.

Malik picked up one of the larger trophies and tested its weight. “Someone’s been busy.” 

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Jounouchi beamed, puffing his chest out. “I’m one of the top five duelists in all of Japan!”

“Congrats. Do you pose with them whenever you need a confidence boost?” Malik joked, seeing a full-length mirror propped up against an adjacent wall. “Or are they all just conveniently in the background of your Instagram posts?”

“Eh, a little from Column A, a little from Column B.”

“Hm. I admire your honesty.”

“Hey, I worked hard for those! There’s no shame in showing them off whenever I can. I mean, that’s what they’re _for,_ right?”

“Good point,” Malik conceded, carefully returning the trophy to its rightful spot. “But you should at least pretend to be a little more humble. Winter’s coming and you won’t be able to wear any nice hats if all that ego finds its way to your head.”

Jounouchi gave him a playful shove, unintentionally causing Malik to stumble right into an overstuffed laundry hamper.

“Trust me Ishtar, it’s gonna take more than winning a few local tournaments before I get a Kaiba sized ego,” he said, ignoring Malik’s indignant glare. “Now c’mon, I wanna drop all this off already; your shit’s heavy.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining; I never asked you to carry it in the first place. ...I’m guessing my room’s back there?” he asked, nodding towards the second set of doors near the back.

“Sure is!” Jounouchi slid open the door with an exaggerated flourish. “Ta-da! Your very own closet suite!”

After willing himself to keep an open mind, Malik walked inside, hoping it wasn’t as cramped as the word ‘closet’ would imply.

The room definitely _seemed_ smaller than Jounouchi’s, but Malik quickly realised it was due to having more furniture — specifically, a white vanity, complete with its own stool. He wanted to be annoyed that Jounouchi had thought to include something so stereotypically feminine, but Malik _had_ often used his sister’s vanity while applying kohl every morning. He maintained the excuse that he only did so because he was tired of hearing her complain about him hogging the bathroom.

Next to the vanity was a dresser and laundry hamper identical to the ones in the other room, differing only in colour. A brand-new futon, still neatly wrapped in its plastic, sat rolled up in the far corner, ready to be spread out later that evening. Beside it, a new quilted blanket that was again similar to Jounouchi’s, this time purple instead of green. He was starting to suspect that everything in the apartment came from a certain affordable Swedish department store.

The only other unique feature in Malik’s room was a small set of windows near the ceiling, already fitted with pale yellow curtains dotted with white flowers.

“Not too disappointed?” Jounouchi asked, worried that Malik’s silence was a precursor to a year of regret for both parties.

“No, it’s…cosy,” Malik said slowly, still taking everything in. He glanced over his shoulder with an apologetic smile, a rare expression that caught Jounouchi off-guard. “Sorry for making you give up your walk-in closet though. I know extra storage space is kind of a luxury in the city.”

“You’re fine, it’s not like I have more than six outfits anyway. My dresser’s more than enough space.”

“Oh. …Well, do you want me to pay you back for the vanity and floor mattress...thing?” Malik asked, slipping off his rucksack and setting it by the door. He took back his other luggage from Jounouchi and added them to the pile. 

“The vanity’s my sister’s. I told her you were moving in and she offered it to me; said she’d been meaning to buy a new one anyway. Otogi and I fixed it up for you; we replaced the mirror and sanded off the flowers so it wouldn’t look like it came from a teenage girl’s room,” he said, showing Malik the rough spots around the mirror’s frame. “And the futon’s on me. I wasn’t going to let you sleep on the floor your first night here. Think of it as a housewarming gift if it makes you feel better.”

“But it’s _your_ house.”

Jounouchi revealed a second set of house keys, tossing them to Malik with a grin. “And for the next year, it’ll be yours too.”

“The curtains then,” Malik said, taking out his wallet. “Those are new, right? I’ll pay for them.”

“Got them for free from the little old lady on the floor above us,” Jounouchi smirked, crossing his arms.

Malik continued to stare unblinkingly at Jounouchi as he pulled out a crisp 5000 yen bill.

“Then I’ll pay for the windows.”

“…The windows were already there.”

“So? They’re a premium feature. I get to have windows in my bedroom, and you don’t, so I should have to pay for them,” he insisted, still trying to force the bill into Jounouchi’s hand.

“Listen man, I don’t want your mo—"

“Stop arguing with me or I swear I’ll take a sledgehammer to the wall and _make you_ some windows!” Malik snapped.

“The only wall that’d even have space leads out into the living room!”

“Then your view of it will be lovely.”

“For the love of—” Jounouchi sighed, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or scream. Finally, he plucked the now crumpled bill from Malik’s fingers and slipped it into his back pocket. “ _Fine,_ if it’ll shut you up.”

“It will.”

It wouldn’t.

“What’s next? You gonna offer to pay my rent?”

“Half of it, sure. Why shouldn’t I? You said this was my house too.”

“Well yeah, but you don’t—”

“Enough. I don’t want handouts, Jounouchi,” Malik huffed. “I came back to Domino for work and I plan to use whatever money I make to fund my ultimate goal of being a normal, functioning, and _upstanding_ member of society.”

Jounouchi scoffed. “So did Isis cut you off from the dough you made printing counterfeit cards?”

“She sure as fuck did.” 

“Heh. Maybe you should start with some short-term goals first,” Jounouchi suggested, kneeling down to set up Malik’s bed. “Like getting more acquainted with Japanese culture, or buying shirts long enough to cover your stomach.”

“I literally just told you that I’m trying to be a better person and the first thing you do is insult my clothes?”

“Ishtar, you’re _fine_. You don’t have to be a total saint to get people to like you, or whatever it is you’re worried about. Sit back and enjoy the ride.” He glanced up after fluffing the pillow. “Seriously though, it gets cold here, you’re gonna need warmer clothes.”

“For your information, I brought _three_ jackets,” Malik said, holding up his fingers for emphasis. “One even has real fur lining the inside.”

“Yeah, but does it have sleeves?” 

“...No.”

“Then don’t come crying to me when all that fancy jewellery freezes onto your skin and the only way to get them off is to amputate your arms.”

Malik sat next to his futon and pressed down on the mattress, testing its thickness. He looked up at Jounouchi curiously. “That doesn’t really happen, does it?” 

“I dunno, you’re the only one I know who goes out wearing half their weight in gold,” Jounouchi shrugged. 

“Do you think it’s too much?” Malik asked, pulling out his hair tie and falling backwards onto his new bed. He frowned; it was still a little stiff. “Should I leave them here when I start my new job? I’ve never worked in an office. Suits and ties aren’t my thing, but they don’t seem like they’d be Kaiba’s thing either.”

“Kaiba?” Jounouchi repeated. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Oh, Rishid didn’t tell you?” Malik sat up, his lips pulled into a familiar smirk that Jounouchi knew all too well. “Starting next Monday, I’ll officially be a KaibaCorp employee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading; I'm really excited (and a little nervous) to write for this fandom again! Kudos and comments are always appreciated; I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

Malik’s first night with Jounouchi was largely uneventful.

Although he claimed to have slept during his flight, Malik barely had enough energy to remain upright while sorting through his clothes, taking an obscene amount of time separating things based on season. Jounouchi offered to help but saw little difference in Malik’s winter and summer wear, other than colour. He suggested they eat something before stowing things away, but Malik insisted that he needed to do it _now_ or else it would never get done.

He only managed to fill one side of his new dresser before falling asleep, his stubbornness finally giving out. 

Jounouchi discovered him an hour later with his head propped up against an opened drawer, blissfully unaware of the sore neck he would wake up to in the morning. After much hemming and hawing, Jounouchi decided to move him onto the much more comfortable floor mattress, dragging him about as gingerly as anyone dragging an unresponsive body could. He dug out a spare summer blanket and carefully laid it over Malik’s sleeping form, trying very hard not to think about how peaceful and, dare he say it, _sweet_ he looked when he wasn’t awake and actively being the opposite of those two things. 

Jounouchi quietly congratulated himself for a job well done and headed straight to his kitchen for a bowl of instant udon. While waiting for the hot water to do its magic, he searched his pantry for anything that might be vegetarian friendly, recalling that Rishid had mentioned their family’s aversion to meat. Other than a nearly expired packet of rice crackers and some instant miso, there wasn’t much.

He peeked into his refrigerator and glanced through its shelves for any hidden fruits or vegetables; carrots loved playing hard to get, after all. Jounouchi discovered a sleeve of garlic and the shrivelled, mouldy husk of what he could only assume was once an orange. He nudged the door shut with a sigh, annoyed that Malik was proving to be quite difficult to feed, but also ashamed that he’d allowed his diet to slip so far into the gutter. He couldn’t even remember what broccoli looked like.

Ah well, he’d deal with it later. There were more pressing matters at hand, like whether Malik would be able to get him a discount on Duel Disks once he started working at KaibaCorp.  
  


* * *

  
“I can’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I let you into my house with open arms and this is how you repay me.”

“How is _any_ of this my fault?”

“The audacity.”

“Jounouchi.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never had soft serve ice cream before,” he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _What_ have you been doing with your life?”

“I mean. I’ve been kind of busy,” Malik said flatly.

“Too busy to realise that you were living in a bubble. Tragic.”

“Jounouchi, I get that you’re trying to beat this horse into glue, but I literally did live in a bubble for like, half of my existence.”

“...You’re totally right, sorry about that,” Jounouchi said sheepishly.

Malik smiled, despite himself. He’d been reluctant to leave the apartment that day, thinking up any and every excuse to skip the celebratory dinner Jounouchi and his friends had planned. It wasn’t until Jounouchi promised he could leave as soon as pleasantries were exchanged that Malik began to entertain the idea, only fully relenting when he found out that Ryou had been especially excited to see him again. He was still apprehensive, but at least there would be _one_ person genuinely happy about his return.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Jounouchi just yet. While he’d been a surprisingly good host so far, Malik had a sinking feeling that his sudden generosity was only being done as a favour to Rishid. There wasn’t necessarily anything _wrong_ with that, but it still made him feel like a charity case.

Still, it wasn’t any use to dwell on it now; the buttery scent of freshly baked bread was making it hard to angst anyway.

Upon learning that Malik had no idea different kinds of ice creams even existed, Jounouchi insisted that they visit Yoshihara’s, a quaint, family-owned bakery that sat next to a popular bubble tea spot. While the shop was well loved for its French inspired pastries, they were also known for their high-quality soft serve ice cream, sold exclusively at a kiosk just outside the main entrance. A small sign boasted that their product was made ‘using only the freshest milk from the happiest cows in Hokkaido’. Malik had no idea how anyone could even verify that, but he supposed the cartoon cows drawn on the windows looked cheerful enough. 

“Which one are you getting?” Jounouchi asked, still debating on whether he wanted to spend the extra 500 yen to have his cone dusted with premium matcha powder. Usually he’d settle for something plain, but since their outing was a celebration of sorts, it couldn’t hurt to splurge a little here and there. “I think some of them are non-dairy, if you’re not into milk.”

Malik shook his head, his brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes flitted between two points on the menu board. 

“I don’t mind milk, but I kind of want to try that black one,” he said, pointing to its photo. “How do they get it so dark? Charcoal?”

“Most likely,” Jounouchi nodded, impressed he got it right on his first guess. “Usually ‘black’ sesame is more of a grey, but y’know, aesthetics are everything these days.”

“Aesthetics have _always_ been everything,” Malik argued. “I once read a book about how people knowingly bought loaves of bread made with plaster because it was whiter than normal bread. It happened during the Victorian period in England, I think. Can you imagine?”

Jounouchi pulled a face, picturing a mob of aristocrats happily nibbling on tea sandwiches with chunks of wall smeared inside. No wonder their teeth were so terrible.

“At least charcoal won’t kill you when you eat it. Probably.”

“But what if it stains my teeth?”

“Then you’d make one hell of a geisha,” Jounouchi snickered as Malik shot him a withering glare.

“Whatever. I think I’ll go with taro then.”

“You sure? What if it turns your teeth purple?”

“Then at least they’d match my eyes.” Malik said, fighting hard to keep a straight face. “You’ve been here before, right? What’s your go-to?”

“Can’t go wrong with cookies and milk.”

“How fitting.”

“Why? ‘Cause it sounds like a little kid flavour?” Jounouchi asked indignantly.

He then noticed the wide gap that had formed during their conversation and hastily crossed it, giving an apologetic wave to the people waiting behind them. He gave Malik a light nudge. “Could’ve told me the line moved.”

“I was trying to adhere to the Japanese custom of never directly addressing a problem,” Malik said, subtly tilting his head towards the other customers. “It was one of the short-term goals you suggested yesterday, remember?”

Jounouchi was starting to think that everything Rishid had claimed about his little brother’s improved attitude was either extremely exaggerated, or an outright lie.

As the couple ahead of them turned to leave, Jounouchi quickly stepped in front of Malik and blocked him from reaching the tiny window, earning a strange look from the clerk. He pointedly ignored his companion’s protests and proceeded to order _and_ pay for both their cones, adding a host of extra toppings just to infuriate him even more. Though, perhaps he was toeing the line a little too closely, as he could hear Malik taking deep, steady breaths to calm himself down. Jounouchi sincerely hoped it worked; showing up with melted soft serve pressed into his hair wouldn’t be the greatest start to their night.

Malik’s mouth dropped when Jounouchi handed him his cone; what was meant to be a simple swirl of purple ice cream was now dotted with balls of toasted mochi and finished with a drizzle of sweetened condensed milk. Jounouchi’s order was topped with two sticks of strawberry Pocky and a generous dusting of the matcha powder he’d been mulling over earlier. Malik took his cone with a strained ‘thank you’ and waited until Jounouchi started eating before taking his first bite.

“ _Sooo_ , how is it?” Jounouchi asked, dragging a stick of Pocky through his ice cream and taking a generous bite off the end. “Pretty good pre-dinner snack, huh?”

“You’re going to pay for...paying,” Malik said between licks. He hated feeling indebted to anyone, even if it was for something as insignificant as an ice cream cone. Luckily, he was too intrigued by the gooey texture of his mochi to get more upset about it. “…It’s good though.” 

Jounouchi chuckled. “Told you.”

Malik huffed and continued eating as they made their way through the buzzing streets of downtown Domino, passing a row of clothing boutiques proudly advertising their new autumn styles. He made note of the more interesting offerings, planning to drop by on his own time to shop for more ‘seasonally appropriate’ clothes, as Jounouchi had put it. He was loath to admit it, but the weather _had_ been a little cooler than he’d expected; a nice sweater (or five) would be enough to tide him over until winter.

Suddenly realising he’d been walking by himself, Malik stopped and looked around for Jounouchi, finding him with his nose pressed against a window showcasing a brightly lit pair of trainers. Heaving a sigh, Malik circled back and gently prodded his shoulder.

“We’re going to be late,” he said, sparing the display a glance. If it weren’t for the grandiose lighting, he doubted he’d have noticed the shoes to begin with.

“They’re _new_ ,” Jounouchi breathed, fogging up the glass.

Malik blinked and slowly turned to the colourful sign next to them, which conveniently read ‘NEW’ in large, flashing letters. 

“Yes, I can see that.”

Jounouchi shook his head, unsatisfied with Malik’s lukewarm response. “They’re the latest Air Muscles!”

Malik gave him a blank stare in return. “...Okay.”

“Air Muscles, Ishtar. _Air. Muscles._ ”

“If I say ‘yay’, can we leave?” Malik asked, attention returning to his ice cream.

“Are you serious?!” Jounouchi exclaimed, nearly dropping his own cone in shock. “You’ve never heard of Air Muscles? They’re only _the_ most popular brand of trainers in the entire world! People have _died_ for these!”

He neglected to reveal that the pair he’d worn for years had been won in a Shadow Game, courtesy of Atem. Malik probably wouldn’t have taken that too well. 

“They’re just shoes.”

“They aren’t _just_ shoes, Ishtar; they’re _Air Muscles._ ”

“Gotcha. So, if I ever slip back into old habits, I’ll tell the judge I wanted to cop some Air Muscles.”

He took another bite of his ice cream and waited for Jounouchi to finish salivating over the stupid shoes, his irritation palpable. Jounouchi had a feeling their night would go south fast if he continued to argue against Malik’s apathy, so after one last wistful look, he reluctantly allowed the topic to drop.

They resumed their leisurely stroll towards Domino’s oldest arcade, which had served as the group’s meeting spot for as long as any of them could remember. Jounouchi’s ice cream had melted into a sweet slurry during his rendezvous with the store window, leaving sticky trails running down his hands. Malik grimaced as he watched Jounouchi’s awkward attempts to lick himself clean, falling back a few steps to distance himself from the other’s unsightly behaviour.

An enormous spider slowly crept into view, backlit and splayed proudly under the English words ‘BIG WEB.’ The building’s dark grey facade was criss-crossed in glowing neon webs with small, blinking lights scattered throughout, giving the appearance of trapped fireflies. Jounouchi stuffed the last bits of cone into his mouth and motioned for Malik to follow him inside, knowing exactly where his friends would be waiting. Malik hesitated, but eventually joined him, inspecting the different gaming machines with a childlike curiosity.

Jounouchi led him to a large indoor play area meant for young children. Though the equipment had definitely seen better days, everything was considerably well-maintained for its age. Malik spotted a familiar mane of white hair and fought hard to keep his anxiety in check. Despite all evidence proving otherwise, a part of him still believed the whole thing was an elaborate setup to get back at him for Battle City. 

Otogi was the first to notice their approach, but Ryou was the first to properly greet them, scrambling up from his wobbly seat on an old spring horse.

“There you are!” he said breathlessly, welcoming them with a bright smile.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Jounouchi said, raising a hand in greeting. “We swung by Yoshihara’s for some ice cream.”

Ryou gasped. “I love Yoshihara’s! You’ll need to invite me next time — they have a secret menu item that only a few people know about and _I_ happen to be one of them!”

“Lemme guess; it’s some kind of creampuff?”

“Not so loud!”

Otogi snickered, joining them with a lazy salute. “Dessert before dinner, huh? Bold move.”

“Hey, tonight’s supposed to be a celebration! Can’t have a party without ice cream.”

“You _clearly_ haven’t been going to the right parties,” Otogi snorted. He turned his attention to the unusually quiet Malik, giving him a small nod. “It’s been a while, Ishtar. I don’t think we’ve formally met; my name’s Otogi Ryuuji.”

“Pleasure,” Malik said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You grew your hair out after all!” Ryou said excitedly, reaching forward to run his fingers through Malik’s ponytail, much to the latter’s dismay. “It suits you!”

Jounouchi raised an eyebrow. “Have you two spoken since we were all in Egypt?”

“It’s a long story,” Malik said, interrupting Ryou before he could say anything. “But, yeah, we have. Kind of.”

Ryou seemed to have gotten the hint and quickly changed the subject. 

“Anyways, I’m starving. Between classwork and writing my new campaign, I haven’t gotten a chance to eat today,” he said sheepishly, tucking a lock of snowy hair behind his ear. “Where are we going?”

“Is this everyone?” Jounouchi asked. “I thought Yuugi was coming.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Ryou said, shaking his head. “Something came up at work and he needed to make a last-minute change to his schedule.”

“Ah, that sucks. What about—”

“Nope,” Otogi said abruptly, causing Malik and Ryou to exchange glances. “I haven’t told him shit.”

“D’you really think he’d freak out about it?” 

“You know him better than I do Jounouchi; what do _you_ think?”

“...You’re right,” he sighed. “Eh, who needs him; he’d run up the bill with appetisers anyway.”

Jounouchi ignored Ryou’s concerned frown and pulled Malik closer to the rest of the group, amused that he was acting so shy. 

“Anyway, it’s _your_ welcome back party, Ishtar; what’s for dinner? Sushi? Ramen? Okonomiyaki?”

“Whatever everyone else wants, I guess,” he said, slipping his wrist out of Jounouchi’s grip. “I’m not picky when it comes to food as long as there’s a vegetarian option.”

“Oh, you’re a vegetarian? I’d say that counts as being picky,” Otogi said, casually slinking an arm around Malik’s waist. “Explains why you’re in such good shape though. If I had a stomach as tight as yours, I’d want to show it off all the time too.” 

Jounouchi and Ryou visibly cringed, both at Otogi’s shamelessness and at the very real prospect of Malik breaking his five-year clean streak by murdering someone right in front of them. However, Malik simply ducked away from Otogi’s side hug, returning to his previous spot next to Jounouchi. 

“Yikes.”

“Yes, yikes indeed,” Ryou said solemnly. He hopped behind Malik and carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s getting a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think? Let’s step outside; I can show you some of the nearby restaurants!”

“I— Okay?” Malik blinked, allowing himself to be steered out of the arcade.

Jounouchi promptly stopped Otogi from following them, fixing him with an irate glare.

"Classy way to introduce yourself, Dice Boy,” he said, sliding his middle finger underneath Otogi’s headband and slowly pulling it taut. “But maybe you should consider saving that shit for the second date, ‘cause I’m the one that’s gotta deal with the fallout if he decides to throw a fit about this later.”

He stretched the elastic well past its limit and allowed the band to snap back into place, leaving a stinging red welt on Otogi’s forehead. Otogi flinched but didn’t appear too bothered as he slapped Jounouchi’s hand away from his face and moved to join the others up front.

“Not my problem; you signed up for this.” 

“Doesn’t mean you gotta make it more difficult!”

“If you’re so worried about him going crazy again, then why are you letting him stay with you?” Otogi asked, pausing in front of the DDR machines to muffle their voices. “You know what he’s capable of; the guy sent you into a fucking coma.”

“But that wasn’t _him,_ ” Jounouchi insisted, annoyance flaring when he saw Otogi’s obvious scepticism. 

“He also chained you to a shipping crate and dragged you and Yuugi into the ocean. Wasn’t _that_ him?” 

Jounouchi raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, already getting fed up with Otogi’s condescending tone. Before responding, he made sure neither Malik nor Ryou were within earshot. 

“You don’t think I know how stupid I was to agree to this? I fucked up, fine, but I still plan on riding this out until he gives me a reason to hit the brakes. Listen, I know you’re worried, but so far, it’s been fine. _He’s_ been fine. Trust me, the moment he pulls a knife on me, or whatever, he’ll be on the first flight back to Egypt. Besides,” he shrugged, “I told his brother I’d give things a shot.”

Otogi scoffed. “That’s incredibly noble of you, but no favour is worth risking your life for. I’m not going to tell you to back out, but I _am_ going to tell you that you’re being a dumbass.” 

“Sometimes you gotta give people a chance. Yeah, it could be the biggest mistake you make in your life, but it could also be the best thing to happen to theirs. You won’t know unless you try, right? Hell, without Yuugi, I’d be—”

“Hey! Are we going or what?” Ryou called from outside, waving his hands over his head. Malik was seated on a large bollard next to him, leaning back to take a panoramic picture of the building’s facade. “We’ll need to leave now if we want to beat the dinner rush!”

Jounouchi and Otogi squinted as they walked out of the arcade, their eyes struggling to adjust from its dimly lit interior. Ryou and Malik met them halfway, appearing almost ethereal in the dying sunlight; the way the rich oranges and pinks reflected off their pale hair made it seem like they’d been ripped from a watercolour painting. 

“Does that mean you two have finally decided on where to eat?” Otogi asked, folding his arms behind his head as he discreetly took in the view.

“Top Curry!” Ryou said eagerly, rocking back and forth on his heels. “They’ve got a huge vegetarian section in their menu; we checked online while you two were talking. Any objections?”

“Sounds great to me. You in, Jounouchi?”

“Hell yes I’m in,” he replied with a wide grin, the weight of his conversation with Otogi quickly fading away. “Isn’t that the place that uses imported American beef for their menchi katsu? I could eat three whole plates of that stuff!”

“We literally had ice cream an hour ago,” Malik said incredulously.

“That was the warmup!”  
  


* * *

  
Top Curry was a loud place, both in decor and clientele. Gaudy local mascots and vintage advertisements for long discontinued Japanese drinks were hung haphazardly on the walls, creating a charming, yet disorienting space. Malik counted at least six CRT televisions mounted around the dining area, most of which were tuned in to an ongoing Duel Monsters tournament taking place a few blocks away. 

“You didn’t skip this one because of me, did you?” he asked Jounouchi, noticing how intently he’d been watching the play-by-play. They were all currently waiting for a table to free up, missing the dinner crowd by mere minutes.

Jounouchi gave him an odd look before shaking his head, his expression crumpling into a grimace as Seto Kaiba’s infamous resting bitch face appeared before the commercial break.

“Didn’t bother entering. There were way too many new players, so it wouldn’t have been fair,” he said casually, oblivious to Malik’s smirk. “Besides, there’s another one coming up in a few weeks that has a way better cash prize.”

“Will Kaiba be competing?”

“Nah, he only ever competes when Yuugi does, and that guy’s been too busy with his new start-up to enter anything lately.”

Malik noted a tinge of bitterness in Jounouchi’s tone.

“Looks like they’re ready for us,” Otogi announced, setting down an old magazine he’d been flipping through.

The group followed one of the waiters to an empty booth near the kitchen, carefully avoiding any of the servers that were transporting drinks. Jounouchi and Malik sat opposite from each other, sorting through the different menus stacked in front of them. Ryou took his seat next to Malik while Otogi excused himself to grab some bottled drinks from a refrigerated case near the cash registers.

“Get me the chicken curry, mild!” he said as he left.

“No problem,” Jounouchi called back, marking Otogi’s as ‘ultra-spicy’ on the order slip without any hesitation.

“Have you been settling in okay?” Ryou asked, patiently waiting for Jounouchi to finish writing down his order. “You’re not still jet lagged, are you?”

“A little,” Malik said, browsing the menu. “But I should be fine by Monday.”

“He slept like a log as soon as we finished unpacking his stuff,” Jounouchi snorted, passing Ryou the paper slip. “Didn’t even have time to get him some extra pillows.”

“Jounouchi’s snoring woke me up this morning.”

“Yeah? Well you _don’t_ snore. It’s weird.”

“Bit strange that you’d even be listening for that,” Ryou said, neatly printing his order onto the third line. “But at least you two are getting along.”

“It’s only been a day,” both blondes said in unison.

“Good point. Did you need more time to decide, Malik?”

“I think I’m good,” he said, praying his writing was at least semi-legible.

“Where exactly are you going to be working anyway?” Ryou asked, sliding the slip to Malik. “Jounouchi said they’d asked for you specifically. Is it another museum position?” 

“Not exactly.”

As if on cue, every television in the restaurant began playing a promo for the upcoming tournament Jounouchi had mentioned earlier. Towards the end, Seto appeared to announce the registration requirements and deadlines, looking and sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Check it out, it’s your new boss!”

Malik resisted the urge to shove their order slip into Jounouchi’s mouth as he placed it on the edge of their table.

“...Kaiba? You were scouted by _KaibaCorp_ _?_ ” Ryou asked, eyes wide. “Malik, that’s amazing!”

“Try nerve-racking,” he groaned, resting his head onto an empty plate. “I have no idea what to expect. I don’t even know what they want me to do.”

“No joke?” Otogi cut in, passing out their drinks. “They hired you without telling you what the job was?”

“I think they wanted my sister,” Malik said, slowly peeling the wrapper from his straw. “She and Kaiba have spoken a few times since Battle City, I’ve seen their texts. They probably only offered me the job because she declined.”

“It’s still a good opportunity for you,” Ryou insisted. “Who knows? If you do a good job, they might keep you on as a permanent employee.” 

Jounouchi choked on his soda. “Don’t scare him, Ryou.”

“Oh hush.”

“He’s got a point though,” Otogi said, sitting next to Jounouchi. “If you manage to stay at KaibaCorp, you’d be set for life; they practically own Domino City now.”

“Is that a good thing?” Malik asked, dumbfounded.

“Nope,” he admitted with a shrug. “But at least the pay’s nice.”

“Soon we’ll all be required to pay tribute to his Blue Eyes statues every morning,” Ryou laughed. 

A cold chill ran down Jounouchi’s spine. “Man, don’t joke about that.”

“Hm. A young CEO taking complete control of his hometown and forcing its citizens to become a part of his dragon worshipping cult? That would actually make for an interesting campaign...”

“You’re such a nerd,” Malik said, rolling his eyes.

“Says the guy who taught himself Japanese.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“TRPGs are _fun_ Malik; you should play with us next time!”

“No thank you.”

Ryou pouted. “Killjoy.”

“So, what’s been up with you two?” Jounouchi asked, leaning forward. “You mentioned being in touch.” 

“I said it was a long story,” Malik said irritably. 

“Well, we’re all sitting.”

“It’s also a boring one.”

“Again, we’re sitting.”

“It’s really nothing,” Ryou said, picking up on Malik’s souring mood. “I stayed with the Ishtars when I went to Egypt last year on holiday, that’s all. It was much cheaper than booking a hotel _and_ I got to have a home cooked breakfast every morning.”

Jounouchi clicked his tongue. “Yeah right. Ishtar wouldn’t look like someone made him swallow a lemon if that were it.”

“Not to mention it’s pretty short for a ‘long story’. Did you two do anything ‘interesting’ back then?” Otogi asked with a knowing smirk. 

“No,” Malik replied, deadpan.

“Are you sure?”

“Ryou was always asleep by the time Isis and I came back from the museum, so yes, I’m sure.”

“Rishid _did_ teach me how to make zalabya though,” Ryou said, tapping his chin. “That was fun. I’ve tried making it myself, but it’s been difficult finding some of the ingredients.”

“You like that stuff?” Malik asked, his nose wrinkling. “It’s so sweet.”

“Really? I thought his recipe could’ve used more honey.”

Malik’s scandalised gasp caused the rest of the group to erupt in a chorus of laughter, which unsurprisingly did little to ease the Egyptian’s already fraying nerves. Cheeks noticeably stained a dusty pink, Malik cleared his throat and suddenly became very interested in reading the nutrition label on his mango Calpico.

Ryou was the first to (mostly) recover, though his face was still beet red. He stopped short of patting Malik’s back and focused instead on trying to get the others to settle down. Otogi attempted to drown his giggles by taking a long drink of water, however, his quivering shoulders betrayed his silence. Jounouchi was slumped onto the table, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks as he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath.

Fuming, Malik snatched Jounouchi’s soda and held it over his head; luckily, Ryou managed to grab his hand before he could pour.

“Malik, _no_ ,” he said firmly, wrestling the bottle out of his grip. “For goodness’ sake—” 

Malik relented, abandoning the drink and sliding halfway under the table to give the other blond a vicious kick in hopes of shutting him up. Jounouchi bolted upright with a pained yelp, hugging his throbbing leg close to his stomach. He gingerly rolled up his pant leg and found a fresh bruise blooming beneath his knee, already coloured an angry violet.

Equally angry lilac eyes glared at him from across the booth. “Are you done?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you sounded like a housewife that found a dead rat in her teapot!”

“I did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“You really did,” Otogi agreed, refilling his cup with more ice water. “Trust me, I know the sound well.”

Jounouchi blinked. “Otogi, what the fuck?” 

“Gods, kill me,” Malik begged, gazing up at the ceiling. “...But first, kill them.”

“Children, _please,_ ” Ryou said, voice pitched and patience crumbling.

Salvation came in the form of an overworked and underpaid server, struggling to balance four heaping plates of hot food without so much as a serving tray for help. Never one to pass up an opportunity to flirt, Otogi nearly fell over himself to help her, launching into his well-rehearsed, ‘indignant’ rant about the thanklessness of customer service positions. Apparently, this was something that Jounouchi and Ryou had suffered through before, as Malik could see them silently mouthing along. 

All their orders were more or less identical; a generous serving of fluffy white rice paired with a pool of aromatic Japanese curry. Ryou and Otogi had opted for their meats and vegetables to be mixed in, making their curries look more like a rich stew; Malik and Jounouchi had their proteins separate and off to the side, breaded and deep-fried into a perfectly crispy golden brown. Side orders of fried shrimp and vegetable tempura were added to their meal at Jounouchi’s insistence, but Malik managed to dissuade him from ordering what would have been their second round of dessert, much to Ryou’s disappointment.

Otogi sat back down with a satisfied sigh; evidently, he’d been successful in obtaining their harried waitress’s phone number. Ryou was the only one to offer any sort of congratulation for his feat, mumbling a polite ‘good for you’ as Otogi proudly showed off the messy digits scrawled onto his palm.

Finally free from all feuds and distractions, they prepared to dig in.

“ _Wait!_ ” Malik said, pulling out his phone. “Before we eat, could I ask a favour?”

Otogi groaned, letting his spoon fall with a noisy clatter. “Let me guess; you want us all to sit here and starve while you take twelve thousand pictures of the food for your social?”

“No! ...Well, maybe. Later. But first, I wanted us to take a group selfie.”

“Wow, you’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you Ishtar?” Jounouchi winked, organising their dishes into a more eye-catching arrangement.

“Shut up. It’s just so my sister will quit asking me whether I’ve made any friends yet.”

Ryou rolled his eyes. “Malik, who do you think you’re fooling?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know _exactly_ what it means.”

“No, I—”

“While I’m young,” Otogi said impatiently, his twin victory signs looking very out of place coupled with his grumpy expression.

“Make sure to get my good side!”

“Don’t ask for the impossible, Jounouchi,” Malik mumbled, angling the camera so that everyone was in frame. 

His thumb hovered over the shutter as he continued to stare at the scene displayed on his screen, suddenly terrified everything would shatter as soon as he took the photo. This was all real, right? He was actually here, sitting in a kitschy restaurant with people he’d nearly killed over a complete misunderstanding? This wasn’t a dream? A hallucination? Had they really forgiven him? Were they only tolerating him because his siblings asked them to? What if this was a trick? A trap? What if they were lying? What if they were planning to kill him?

Malik was startled back to reality when Jounouchi tapped his shoulder, nodding towards a passing server who’d offered to take their picture. He hastily switched out of selfie mode and passed them his phone, re-joining the rest of the group and settling into a practised smile. Jounouchi ducked under the table and squeezed in between Malik and Ryou, flashing a toothy grin as he threw an arm around each of them. Otogi let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head, now all alone on the opposite side. 

“Alright guys; say ‘cheese’!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who left feedback on the first chapter! This is my first time writing something so long for a rarepair and it was really encouraging to see that there are people willing to give these guys a shot!
> 
> Also, I know the prominence of social media and smart phones wouldn't have been a 'thing' in the early 2000s, but I feel like it's a bit silly to restrict something like that when KaibaCorp exists. Basically, if they can have hyper-realistic holograms, I figure they can have Instagram too [shrug].
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

The Kaiba Corporation’s welcome lobby was neither welcoming nor very lobby-like. Everything from floor to ceiling was offensively shiny and reflective, so much so that Malik was seeing angles of himself he hadn’t even known existed. Even the leather sofa he was sitting on was shiny; he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was someone waiting for him to leave so they could re-polish it for the next person. 

A row of flat screen televisions lined the walls surrounding the sitting area, each one advertising a new or upcoming KaibaCorp product. Occasionally, Seto’s unsmiling face would appear, as if to remind everyone that he was responsible for everything. The two ‘life-sized’ Blue Eyes White Dragon statues outside the entrance should have clued him in — there was nothing understated about this company or its president.

In a presumed attempt to add some life into the otherwise sterile environment, there was a single potted plant placed behind the receptionist’s desk, next to one of several silver installations of the company’s logo. If it weren’t for the fact that it was actively dying, Malik would have assumed it was fake. He was half-tempted to set the poor thing on fire to put it out of its misery.

“Malik Ishtar?”

His attention snapped onto the receptionist, a tired, middle-aged man leisurely working his way through an enormous mug of black coffee. Malik cleared his throat and quickly got to his feet, taking a deep breath before approaching the desk, the keychains on his messenger bag clinking softly with each step.

“Good morning.”

“Wow, your pronunciation is excellent,” the man said in the same manner one would use to praise a child. He was wearing a strange ensemble underneath his oversized lab coat — it reminded Malik of something from an old science fiction movie.

“I’ve only said two words to you so far, but thank you,” he replied with a feigned smile, silently cursing himself for failing to hold his tongue.

The receptionist lowered his glasses and looked him up and down, eyes squinted. For the first time in his life, Malik felt underdressed. Thinking that the Kaiba Corporation would be at least _somewhat_ normal, he’d forgone his usual revealing tops and opted for a simple black dress shirt with dark jeans instead, cutting a rather sleek silhouette. He’d even left most of his jewellery back at Jounouchi’s apartment, wearing only a choker and his late father’s earrings. It was the most professional he’d ever felt, and yet everyone else was dressed like they were about to splice atoms on board the Blue Eyes White Spaceship. 

Or whatever it was people did with atoms.

“Alright Mister Ishtar, what brings you to the Kaiba Corporation?”

“I’m a new hire,” Malik said, promptly placing a bulging Manila folder onto the desk. “I was contacted a few months ago for an upcoming project. I don’t know if you need to make copies, but I’ve brought my passport, work visa, a letter from Kaiba Se—”

“My apologies, but I’m not seeing the name ‘Malik Ishtar’ listed anywhere in our roster,” the man interrupted, scrolling through an endless list of employees. “Are you sure it was the _Kaiba_ Corporation that sponsored you?”

“...Yes, because as I’ve mentioned, I have a letter with Kaiba’s signature right he—”

“Hold on, I found you.”

“Oh. Good.”

“It says here that you participated in the Battle City tournament five years ago and placed a respectable second. Congratulations! That’s higher than our president.”

“Wh— Are you _Googling_ me?”

“Well, you weren’t in the database.”

“And what’s the correlation?”

“There isn’t one; I wanted to make sure you weren’t ‘accidentally’ using an alias,” the receptionist said, adjusting his glasses as he continued to skim the page, oblivious to Malik’s growing frustration.

“Sir, if you would please read the let—”

“I’m glad you switched to a different hairstyle; those spikes were doing nothing for your facial structure.”

Malik was now quite envious of the dying plant. 

“Hey, you’re here!” a voice called out from somewhere above.

Malik looked up, spotting Mokuba Kaiba peering down at them from one of the upper floors, his face lit up in an impish grin. Normally that would have made Malik suspicious, but he was too busy trying not to lose his temper to think much of it. Throttling a fellow employee on the first day probably wasn’t the best way to start a new job.

“Mokuba! Yes!” Malik said, nodding fervently. “Yes, I am! If you would _kindly_ let this gentleman know that you’ve been expecting me, I’d really, _really_ appreciate it.”

“Wait, what? How long have you been sitting out here?”

“Half an hour, I think?” 

“Are you _serious?_ ” Mokuba groaned, disappearing from view.

Malik blinked, worried that he’d somehow misspoke.

A large metal tube he’d initially dismissed as another column suddenly rumbled to life. Rings of blue light raced across its metallic surface as it droned an unsettling hum that filled the lobby; it wasn’t until Malik heard a small chime that he realised it was an elevator. There was a hiss of air as the doors opened and Mokuba stepped out, still baby-faced despite being five years older. It was odd seeing someone so young in a full three-piece suit, but Malik supposed being the company’s vice president meant having to keep a professional public appearance.

“Good morning Mokuba, sir,” the receptionist said, lowering his head in a slight bow. “How may I help you today?”

Mokuba crossed his arms. “I thought I told you to call me as soon as he came in?” 

“I was verifying his identity; his name wasn’t showing up anywhere on our system.”

“So? When I tell you to do something, you’re supposed to do it.”

“But according to the Kaiba Corporation’s security procedures, we need to—”

Mokuba sighed, ignoring the man’s rambling. “Sorry about him. If I’d known you were here, I would’ve come down sooner.” He started back towards the elevator, waving for Malik to follow.

“No worries,” Malik said, slipping the documents back into his bag. “Were you guys waiting long?”

“Kind of, but you’re fine. It’s all Nakamura’s fault anyway. He wasn't giving you a hard time back there, was he?” Mokuba asked, glancing over his shoulder with a frown. “Y’know, I never liked him. He always microwaves fish in the breakroom and stinks up the place. If you wanted to file a formal complaint, I could have him out of here by tomorrow.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“It’d be kept anonymous.”

“Your front desk guy’s an incompetent fool and possibly racist.”

“Oof, you went all in,” Mokuba snickered, however his expression sobered as soon as the elevator doors slid closed. “I guess it _was_ our fault for not having you in the system yet though. Seto told me he wanted to make sure you actually showed up before finalising everything.”

“Like I’d pass up the chance to get out of that mouldy old museum,” Malik said with a huff. 

“Has he told you anything about the project yet?”

“He said that my involvement would be vital to its success and that you guys would be honoured to have me join.” Malik allowed his words to linger for a moment, shaking his head with a scoff. “Your big brother really knows how to butter people up.”

“From what I remember, so do you.”

Malik shrugged, fiddling with a button on his shirt. “It’s not a bad skill to have. Especially if you’ve got the face to back up your persuasion.”

“Are you talking about yourself, or Seto?”

“Yes.”

The young Kaiba grimaced. 

“Hey, I’m not blind.”

“No, it’s not that. I pictured Seto trying to flirt his way through a business agreement and tasted some of my breakfast at the back of my throat.”

The lights inside the elevator flashed green as they gradually came to a stop, the doors opening to reveal a long hallway flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows on either side. Malik let out a low whistle as he surveyed the space, already liking this floor much better than the one they’d left. Unlike the faux-space station on the first floor, it actually resembled what he’d imagined an upscale office building would look like, down to the scarlet carpeting.

“Are you ever featured in the KaibaCorp promos?” Malik asked as they passed an aerial photo of Domino City. “I know your brother’s the president of the company, but you must’ve had a hand in some stuff, right?”

“I MCed a Capsule Monsters tournament a few years ago, but all I did was provide the voice for a little egg mascot. Normally I leave all the public speaking stuff to Seto,” Mokuba said, leading him through a set of double doors. “I’m always worried I’ll say the wrong thing and end up bankrupting the company or something.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I dunno, but why risk it? Besides, if more people recognised me, they’d know who to threaten to get Seto’s attention.” He smirked. “Not that _you’d_ know anything about that.” 

“Please. Your brother was able to take out those idiots with a trading card, it’s not like you had anything to worry about anyway,” Malik said defensively, figuring it was too late to bother with an actual apology.

To his surprise, Mokuba laughed. “Relax! I’m kidding. Besides, I’ve been through worse; your guys were pretty tame.”

Malik was curious to know what else the younger Kaiba had gone through if he considered being held at knife point ‘tame’, but not enough to push the topic any further.

He remained silent as he followed Mokuba into a conference room with a single window big enough to serve as its own wall. As Malik drew closer, he could see that it overlooked the Domino City Pier; cargo ships were docked in almost every slot, surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of multicoloured shipping containers.

Seto Kaiba was watching the activity with a bored look, no doubt thinking up a more efficient way for the process to take place. Malik suspected it involved robots. Or holograms. Or holographic robots.

Next to him stood an objectively ugly, potato-shaped man dressed in a green pinstripe suit with comically tiny glasses perched upon his bulbous nose. He turned to the pair as they approached, and Malik channelled what he could of Rishid’s kindness to stop himself from shoving Mokuba forward and insisting he be eaten first. The unknown man also bore a crown of long healed electrical burns across his wide forehead.

“Welcome back, Master Mokuba,” he said with a low bow, his back almost perfectly parallel to the floor. His mouth stretched into a yellow grin as he straightened. “I see you’ve brought Mister Ishtar with you.”

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “Well obviously. I mean, that’s why I left.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mister Ishtar. You may call me Daimon — I once served as the head butler at Kaiba Manor.” He extended a hand in greeting. “Master Kaiba has requested my presence at this meeting.”

Malik glanced down at the hand but hesitated in taking it. 

“Your other one,” Seto mumbled, still staring out the window. 

Daimon corrected himself, switching to his right instead. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s fine,” Malik said, ignoring his hand for a second time. He offered both Daimon and Seto a quick bow, pale blond hair spilling over his shoulders. “I’m sorry for keeping you all waiting.”

Mokuba hoisted himself onto the room’s ridiculously long conference table. “Seto, can we fire Nakamura? Malik was here for _thirty minutes_ and he never called to tell us. He was signed in and even had his passport out and everything.” 

“Sure,” Seto shrugged, finally facing the rest of the group. He wore a black two-piece suit paired with a crisp navy dress shirt; its first few buttons were undone, giving him a refreshingly casual appearance. “You can tell him in half an hour. He may have found it appropriate to waste our time, but I see no point in wasting his.”

“Oh, that’s cold,” Malik said with an exaggerated shiver. ”Glad to hear you haven’t lost your touch.” 

Seto’s lips twitched.

“Ishtar.”

“Kaiba.”

Seto joined his brother at the table, taking his seat at its head. “I appreciate your willingness to help us with this project. I’m sure you’ve been dying to know the details.”

“Dying’s a strong word, but I’ve definitely been curious,” Malik admitted, moving to stand next to Mokuba. “You’re lucky I agreed to go in blind.”

“Not lucky; I just know how to play my cards right.”

“Ha. How long have you been waiting to say that one?”

“Long enough.”

“It’s true; I’ve heard him practicing in the bathroom,” Mokuba muttered under his breath. 

“Then spill,” Malik said, resting a hand on his hip. “What exactly do you need me for? It’s not every day a multi-billionaire decides to import their own personal Egyptian.” He gasped. “ _Unless—_ ”

“No.”

“Never thought you’d be into blondes, Kaiba.”

“Stop.”

“I don’t have any scales either - is that a deal breaker?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“And yet—”

“Have you heard of Kaiba Land?” Mokuba asked, sensing the conversation was going nowhere fast. “It’s a theme park that Seto and I started a few years ago. So far there are two; the first park’s here in Domino City, but there’s another one in America. We’re planning to build a third in Europe pretty soon.”

Malik hummed as he tried to remember; Jounouchi may have brought it up once or twice, but given its painfully generic name, he most likely mistook it as a joke at the time.

He shook his head. “Haven’t heard of it. Then again, I’m not the best person to ask; theme parks weren’t really a thing for me as a kid.”

“So, you haven’t been to one? _Ever?_ ” 

“Kind of sad, right?”

Mokuba grinned. “Well then, you’re in for a real treat!”

“There’s a defunct attraction that I’ve been meaning to get rid of for a while,” Seto said, continuing the explanation where his brother left off. “We’d considered demolishing the show building entirely, but given its location, we would need to close a significant portion of the park to do so safely. So, we’ve decided to remodel it.”

“What was it originally?” Malik asked. 

“It was known as Death-T,” Daimon answered, causing everyone to jump. They’d totally forgotten the little goblin was there. “A ‘ride’ where guests needed to complete increasingly difficult challenges to advance to the upper floors. Death T-2 was my—”

Seto silenced Daimon with an icy glare. “It was a failure and now it’s an eyesore. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why was it a failure?” Malik frowned. “Did someone actually die on it?”

“No,” the other three replied far too quickly.

“...Interesting.”

“Either way, I want it gone,” Seto said firmly.

“And where do I come in?” Malik asked, leaning against the table. “I mean, I’m pretty handy with a wrench, but I doubt that’s why you called me over.”

“You don’t have to worry about dirtying your hands with any of that, Mister Ishtar,” Daimon cut in. “I’ll be the one overseeing construction.”

“Ishtar. You’re going to be in charge of the attraction’s concept.” 

Malik tilted his head. “Its concept?”

“Yup! Every ride in Kaiba Land has one,” Mokuba said, pulling up a photo on his phone. It was yet another Blue Eyes statue, though this one appeared significantly larger than the pair guarding KaibaCorp’s entrance. The dragon was coiled protectively around a marble column, a white waterfall pouring from its open mouth into the winding river below. “This one’s called the Burst Stream; it’s a log flume named after the Blue Eyes’ signature move!”

“Since the park takes so much inspiration from Duel Monsters, we thought it might be fitting to have an area dedicated to where the game originates,” Seto said, steepling his fingers. “I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

“Unfortunately,” Malik grumbled, his interest in the project starting to ebb away. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything different, after all, there wasn’t much else he was qualified to do. Isis often encouraged him to take pride in the education he’d received as a child, but it was hard to appreciate something connected so closely to a life he resented.

Not to mention niche as fuck.

Mokuba snorted. “Someone’s excited.”

“I’m _thrilled._ ” 

“Given your background I couldn’t think of anyone else more qualified to oversee development,” Seto said, raising an eyebrow. “Was I mistaken?”

“If it’s enthusiasm you want, my sister would’ve been a better fit.”

Seto scoffed. “She’d be a nightmare to work with.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Then will you help us?”

“Maybe. I’ll need a few more questions answered before I agree to anything.”

“Of course.”

“ _Truthfully,_ ” he clarified with a scowl.

A small smile tugged at Seto’s lips. The Ishtars, while exhausting at times, were always an interesting bunch to deal with. He’d noticed Daimon stealing glances at him every now and then, no doubt waiting for Seto to signal that Malik’s flippant attitude needed to be ‘dealt with’. Normally, he would never tolerate someone speaking to him with such disrespect, but he couldn’t deny that Malik knew what he was talking about.

He’d be pressed to name anything else the blond excelled at though.

Right now, he needed Malik’s help to realise his vision, and unfortunately that meant enduring his...eccentricities. 

“Ask away,” he said, leaning back into his chair. 

“Did anyone die on Death-T?”

“Why is that something you need to know?” Daimon countered.

“Great question!” Malik said mockingly, clasping his hands together. “Kaiba, can _you_ think of a reason why I don’t want my name connected to a homicide cover up?”

Seto sighed, already feeling a terrible headache coming on. “There were a handful of injuries and one death.”

“But he was a criminal!” Mokuba said hastily. “A wanted serial killer who killed a bunch of boy scouts and chopped them up! We even told the police afterwards and they thanked us!”

Malik stared at the younger Kaiba, completely dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure what sort of answer he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t _that._ “...Why—”

“Whatever you’re about to ask is unrelated to the project at hand,” Seto said dismissively. “The police are aware of the death and your involvement with the renovation wouldn’t be seen as a cover up. Next question.”

“But— Oh fine,” Malik pouted, seeing that Seto now had his business face on. “Are you planning to have anything concerning the three gods?”

“Potentially. Why?”

“Don’t. Their cards may be lost to the sands, but the gods aren’t dead. If your attraction uses their likenesses _anywhere_ there’s a good chance that you or someone else will be punished for it,” he warned, sounding remarkably like his older sister.

“I’d really hate to hear that some poor kid got smote for buying a Ra plushie.”

And now he didn’t.

Seto was clearly struggling with this condition — how interesting could this new area possibly be without the gods? But Malik had a point. Regardless of whether or not he believed the gods were real, he still couldn’t explain the strange accidents that followed anyone who tried to recreate their image without the protection of a Millennium Item. His jaw clenched as he weighed his options; he hated to settle, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice. 

“Fine,” he said with some difficulty, looking a bit disgusted at himself for caving in. “The three gods will be excluded from this project. I suppose an area inspired by ancient Egypt would be enough of a draw on its own. It’s not like anyone outside of our… _associates_ knew of their existence anyway.”

“Exactly! Everyone would be more than happy to pay a couple hundred yen to get their picture taken with a camel.”

“You’re a natural. Anything else?”

“Just one,” Malik said, narrowing his eyes. “This isn’t some stupid plot for you to see the Pharaoh again, is it?”

Seto was made painfully aware that everyone in the room was now staring at him. Daimon had even lowered his glasses, revealing a beady set of black eyes. 

“What makes you think it would be?” he asked.

“The fact that you’re Kaiba Seto. Heard about that little dig you guys had at Kul Elna by the way,” Malik said, his grin turning slightly manic. “Sis was _ecstatic._ ”

“He’s got you there,” Mokuba mumbled into his hand.

Seto chose not to acknowledge that. “No. This has nothing to do with Atem.”

“You swear?” Malik asked, still not convinced.

“You have my word Ishtar. Other than increased attendance and the revenue that comes with it, I have no other motive in this.”

When Malik made no indication that he’d accepted his answer, Seto stood up, expression as impassive as ever. 

“You’re free to walk away if you wish, but I want you to know that the Kaiba Corporation—” He paused, still deciding whether finishing his statement would be worth the potential embarrassment. If only Mokuba and Daimon weren’t in the room. “— _I_ would be extremely grateful to have your assistance in this project. Both the company and I are only interested in working with the best and, though I loathe to admit it, your expertise in the subject is unmatched.”

Mokuba failed to keep the amusement from his face. Malik had admitted to seeing through Seto’s flattery, but that didn’t mean he was immune to it. In fact, Mokuba would wager that part of the reason Malik had dragged this out for so long was because he wanted more compliments laid at his feet. He and Seto were oddly similar in that respect, though his brother was definitely better at hiding it.

Seto offered his hand. “So? Will you help us?”  
  


* * *

  
Mondays were stressful for Jounouchi.

While he only had to attend a single class, it was sandwiched between two shifts at Happy Mart, a 24-hour convenience store that sold everything from hot meals to flavoured condoms.

The store was at its busiest in the morning; hot coffee was easily their most popular item, with the occasional college student or housewife stopping by for a quick, greasy breakfast. Jounouchi’s second shift was just as hectic, as he had to drive back from university and pray there wasn’t any significant traffic on the way. The crowds slowed down considerably after the afternoon rush, but that didn’t mean much when the evening customers tended to get a little rowdy. Jounouchi was hardly a stranger to fist fights, but he didn’t want to risk losing his job over one.

Needless to say, by the time he got back, all he wanted to do was sleep.

After climbing the stairs, Jounouchi arrived in front of his apartment; he could see a faint light filtering through the windows, signalling that Malik was already inside. He tried the knob just in case Malik had forgotten to lock it, both relieved and annoyed that the door remained firmly shut.

Jounouchi pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, knocking lightly as it opened so Malik wouldn’t think someone was breaking in. He was sitting underneath the kotatsu watching TV, his hair tied up in a messy bun. Jounouchi guessed he’d been home for some time now, as he was dressed down in an oversized t-shirt and running shorts. Upon hearing someone come in, Malik stood up to investigate, holding something that, at a distance, looked like a charred rock.

“I’m back,” Jounouchi said tiredly, replacing the locks and slipping out of his shoes before walking any further.

“About time,” Malik said. He grabbed a crumpled paper bag from the kitchen counter, holding it up to Jounouchi expectantly. “I was starting to think I’d have to eat all of these myself.”

“Are those sweet potatoes?” Jounouchi asked, hanging his backpack near the door. With all the textbooks he carried, it was a miracle the hook hadn’t broken off yet. “I didn’t think they were in season.”

Malik nodded, finishing the last few bits of his dinner. “I saw a guy selling them out of his truck near the subway. He only took cash, so I bought as many as I could for a thousand yen.”

The nostalgic smell wafting from the package brought Jounouchi back to the carefree autumn afternoons he’d spent with his younger sister. Their mother would send them off with pocket change and they’d return covered in dirt and leaves, carrying a paper bag stuffed to the brim with freshly roasted sweet potatoes. At first, she would lie and tell him they were a special kind of cookie, making them the only vegetable Jounouchi would eat without a fuss. After dinner, he and Shizuka would run outside and empty their pockets of all the acorns they’d collected during their walk. For some reason, they thought this would lure squirrels closer to their house, but really all it did was make their father angry.

Then again, what didn’t?

Jounouchi took the bag eagerly, his excitement growing when he felt its contents were still warm. There were four misshapen sweet potatoes inside, each one a different size. They weren’t as pretty as the ones in supermarkets, but Jounouchi found them much sweeter, especially after being roasted. He gingerly plucked out the largest spud, passing it between his hands while he waited for it to cool down. Malik moved to bat the potato out of the air as he walked by to get a drink, snickering when Jounouchi nearly squished it.

“Asshole.”

“You know it.” 

“So, how’d your first day go?” Jounouchi asked, tearing the sweet potato in two. He blew gently on its yellow flesh before taking a bite, amber eyes widening in amazement at its caramel flavour.

“It...went.” Was Malik’s lukewarm response.

Jounouchi winced. “That bad huh?”

“Mm.”

“You gonna quit?”

“I don’t _quit_ ,” Malik said stiffly, bumping the refrigerator door shut with his hip. “I signed on after some negotiating; the project he wants me to work on doesn’t sound too difficult anyway. It’s just that I’m not sure if Kaiba’s given me all the information yet. You know how he is.”

“Oh, so he finally told you what it was?”

Malik twisted the cap off his water bottle, downing it completely in one take. “Yes, but I don’t think I’m allowed to tell the general public.”

“Good thing we’re at home and I’ve never been in the military,” Jounouchi grinned. 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

“Please?”

“Nope.”

Jounouchi polished off the rest of his sweet potato and went back for another, nudging Malik with his elbow as he walked past. “It’d piss Kaiba off.”

Malik smirked. “That’s tempting.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Jounouchi insisted, offering him the other half of his second potato; Malik declined, already full from one. “Or did they make you sign one of those confidentiality whatsits?”

“They wouldn’t let me leave the building until I did,” Malik said, returning to his cosy spot in front of the TV. “For all I knew those two dragons at the entrance were going to come to life and eat me if I refused.”

Jounouchi snorted. “That definitely sounds like something Kaiba’d waste his time doing.”

“Exactly! Plus, I don’t exactly need my name tied up in any lawsuits at the moment.”

Malik adjusted the kotatsu’s blanket and rested his cheek against its smooth, wooden surface, passively watching an animated commercial for flavoured sake. He’d often wonder what was so special about kotatsu after seeing them in so much Japanese media, but now he finally understood.

If only someone had explained to him that the damn things were _heated_. 

The channel changed and Malik glanced up to find Jounouchi sitting across from him, munching on his sweet potato as he searched for something else to watch. 

“What kind of shows do you like?” Malik asked, realising he didn’t know much about Jounouchi other than his passion for Duel Monsters. “You strike me as the kind of guy who’d be into those shows where dudes in tights run around punching each other.”

Jounouchi laughed, causing the entire tabletop to shake. “What, like Super Sentai? Maybe if I were in elementary school.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Y’know you’re close enough for me to wipe the smug off your face.”

Malik pouted. “Answer me then.”

“Honestly? I’m not too picky,” Jounouchi said, finally stopping on a game show. “I didn’t really get to watch a lot of TV as a kid, so I settled for whatever was on when I had the time. News, dramas, variety shows, anime — didn’t matter to me.” He shoved the last piece of sweet potato into his mouth. “Still doesn’t. Hell, I could watch commercials for half an hour and be fine with it. _Movies_ on the other hand? I’ve got opinions.”

“Go on.” 

“Action flicks from overseas are my go to; me and Yuugi used to save up for weeks to be able to afford tickets,” he said with a smile, remembering how rewarding it felt to finally step onto that sticky cinema floor. “Those old kung fu films from Hong Kong are also pretty good.” 

“So I was right.”

“...About?”

“You like stuff where dudes go around punching each other. They just aren’t wearing tights,” Malik said solemnly. 

Jounouchi supposed he had to give him the point on that one. 

“What about you?” he asked in return, getting up to grab more food. “I mean, you probably didn’t get to see much of that stuff growing up, right?”

Malik shook his head before remembering that Jounouchi couldn’t see him doing so. “I’ve been trying to catch up, but it’s hard when there are so many new ones constantly coming out.”

“Have any favourites so far?”

“Horror,” he replied promptly. “But not the kind with monsters and zombies or whatever. I like the ones that don’t _seem_ like horror at first, but then they mess with your head and leave you a paranoid wreck for the rest of the week.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Jounouchi mumbled, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t the biggest fan of scary movies himself, but they’d definitely lost some of their edge after having dealt with _actual_ ghosts. “If there’s another Paranormal Activity instalment this Halloween, you and I should go check it out. We can bring Ryou along - he loves that kind of stuff.”

“Check it out? Like at the theatre?”

“Yeah. There’s a new one in downtown Domino with stadium seating and mini cheeseburgers at the concession stand,” Jounouchi said, returning from his trip to the kitchen with a freshly made cup of instant ramen. “We should go before your boss buys it out and turns it into another Blue Eyes propaganda centre.”

“I’m actually not too fond of the dark,” Malik said casually, threading a lock of hair between his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Jounouchi to know the extent of his fear, but he figured it was better to mention it sooner than later. “I usually wait until the movies are available to stream.”

“Oooh, is _that_ why you’ve got all those lights in your room?”

“Why were you in my bedroom?” Malik asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not that I have anything to hide in there, but—”

“I uh, forgot that it wasn’t a closet anymore and went in looking for my jacket,” Jounouchi said, his cheeks tinged a rosy pink. 

Malik sighed; even he couldn’t get upset over such an honest mistake.

“I don’t like the dark,” he said simply, hoping Jounouchi would take the hint. “But if the lights are leaking into your room, I could try dimming them a little.”

“Nah, you’re fine, I didn’t even know they were there until I walked in,” Jounouchi said through a mouthful of processed noodles. “And hey, there’s no shame in letting me know about this kind of stuff, y’know? I mean, you’ve got junk, I’ve got junk—”

“I assure you that I have no interest in your ‘junk’.”

Jounouchi paused, considering his questionable choice in words. “...Forget what I said.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for possible triggers.

An annoyingly energetic melody rang from Jounouchi’s phone, startling him from a pleasant dream that he’d already forgotten. He reached blindly for the device, nearly knocking over the precariously stacked tower of textbooks he’d been paging through the night before. After locating it, Jounouchi held the phone above his head, squinting at the cluster of blurry pixels displaying the current time. He yawned and rolled lazily onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow with a groan. It was barely past 8:00AM, way too early to get out of bed on a Saturday.

Unfortunately, Jounouchi always had trouble getting back to sleep after waking up, so instead of wasting his time trying he reluctantly sat up and stretched his arms high above his head until they gave a satisfying pop. He silenced the screeching alarm with a swipe and crawled out of bed, gathering his scattered essay notes into a semi-organised pile. The apartment was bathed in a comfortable stillness once again, interrupted only by the muffled humming of a vacuum cleaner from the floor above.

While scrolling through the mountain of notifications he’d received overnight, a familiar name caught his eye, bringing a much-needed smile to his lips. Yuugi would sometimes send him sneak previews of the projects he was working on and ask for his opinions, which Jounouchi was all too happy to provide. Unlike a certain blond Egyptian, Yuugi wasn’t bound to secrecy by trivial things like ‘contracts’ or ‘legal obligations’.

Jounouchi always felt like a kid on Christmas when opening Yuugi’s photos, marvelling at the amount of heart he managed to pour into his creations. He was finally living out his dream, and Jounouchi couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.

There was a faint rustling behind him as the former closet door slid open to reveal a dishevelled Malik Ishtar, his hair sticking up oddly on the side where he’d slept. He shuffled out of his bedroom with a flannel blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape, making him resemble a significantly less threatening version of the other Malik.

Then again, Jounouchi supposed that’s technically how he always looked.

“Your walls are too thin,” Malik said tiredly, sending the offending device a weak glare. 

Jounouchi snorted. “Morning sunshine.”

“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Malik hadn’t applied his kohl yet, and Jounouchi was surprised to see how much of a difference a few black lines could make. His eyes had always been rather striking due to their shape and unique colour, but Jounouchi hadn’t considered how soft they might be under the right circumstances. It was hard not to compare him to Atem in that respect. Both sought to present themselves as regal and powerful, but while the Pharaoh oozed elegance from every pore, Malik was almost too cute to take seriously without the help of dark shadows and sharp lines. 

Wait.

Wait.

_Wait._

Did he just think of Malik as ‘cute’? Was that weird? That wasn’t weird, right? It was only weird because he knew him, but if he _didn’t_ then it would simply be...an observation? Because that’s really all it was — an acknowledgement. It was like saying ‘Mazaki Anzu has brown hair’, or ‘Mutou Yuugi is short’. ‘Malik Ishtar is cute without makeup’ was a purely objective statement.

...

Wait (again).

If he thought this Malik was cute, did that mean he thought the other Malik was cute? They did have the same face after all. 

Jounouchi stood abruptly, staring at Malik with wide eyes. What if he had residual mind reading powers from the Millennium Rod? What if he was listening to his thoughts right now? Did he know? Should he confess? 

‘Ishtar, cough twice if you can hear me!’ Jounouchi thought as loudly as he could, which was actually much harder than he’d anticipated.

“Are you okay?” Malik asked, idly combing his fingers through his hair. “You look like you’re about to pass a kidney stone.”

Phew.

Now to play it off like nothing happened. 

“I gotta pee.”

“...Good for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll do my best!” Jounouchi said as he quickly walked out of the room, leaving a very confused Malik in his wake.  
  


* * *

  
On Tuesday, Ryou had stopped by their apartment with a loaf of bread and a wicker basket full of homemade jams, referring to the gifts as a ‘survival kit’ rather than a housewarming present. Malik thought nothing of it at the time, figuring Ryou was getting into character for a campaign because he was _that_ much of a nerd. However, as the week wore on, Malik found himself digging through the basket for every meal in a desperate attempt to avoid eating the abominations that Jounouchi considered ‘food’.

He wasn’t a stranger to instant meals, he was actually quite fascinated by them, but he couldn’t understand why Jounouchi would willingly eat cheap ramen when a decent selection of fresh produce was one ten-minute walk away. Was it a matter of convenience? Price? Taste?

Malik spread a thin layer of strawberry jam onto his toast, mentally cursing Ryou’s inability to make anything without emptying an entire bag of sugar into it. Even the bread had been too sweet for his taste, but apparently that’s just how bread was in Japan.

Next to him, Jounouchi’s second helping of instant ramen was almost ready to eat. A small Scapegoat-shaped weight sat on its lid, preventing any heat from escaping while the noodles cooked. Malik polished off the last of his modest breakfast and watched Jounouchi eagerly mix the concoction together, wondering if there was a noticeable difference between the different flavours. Before digging into the second part of his meal, Jounouchi flicked the few sad squares of dried carrot into the sink, effectively eliminating the only things that might have had a hint of nutrition.

“What are we having for dinner tonight?” Malik asked, drumming his fingers against the countertop.

Jounouchi took a hesitant sip of his soup, wincing when the still boiling liquid scalded his tongue. “Tonight? I was thinking we could cook some corn potage.”

_“Cook?_ ” Malik repeated, sounding cautiously hopeful. Did that mean they would be eating something that didn’t need to be rehydrated from a powder? Something made with real ingredients? Something that didn’t have a sodium content to rival the Dead Sea?

“Yeah, it’ll be easy! I found a couple of packets behind the soy sauce that are a few days away from expiri—” 

Malik was visibly struggling to keep himself from screaming. “Okay, that’s it. You and I are going grocery shopping. _Now._ ”

“What? Why?” Jounouchi asked through a mouthful of ramen. “I restocked the pantry like two days ago!” 

“With more instant noodles.”

“I got you stuff too!”

Malik crossed his arms. “You bought me a block of tofu and some cheese puffs.”

“And are those made of meat?” Jounouchi asked expectantly, as if Malik saying there weren’t any pig parts in tofu would somehow prove a point.

“I don’t even think the cheese puffs have cheese.”

“Perfect! You health nuts are always going on about how great short ingredient lists are.”

“Are you kidding me?” Malik asked incredulously, grabbing the bag of ‘cheese’ puffs from the pantry. The mess of artificial ingredients was written in miniscule text and covered approximately half the packaging. “I’ve translated memoirs shorter than this.”

Jounouchi glanced at the bag and shrugged. “So?”

“ _So?_ Do you want to die of a heart attack in five years?”

Jounouchi scoffed, sending a spray of salty chicken broth in Malik’s direction. There was something hilariously ironic about _Malik Ishtar_ fussing over his blood pressure and whether or not he lived to see thirty. He was convinced the universe was fucking with him at this point. “You’re exaggerating.”

“You’re right; it’ll be more like three,” Malik snapped, shoving the chips back into the cupboard. He gathered his dishes and dumped them into the sink, turning on the faucet before sorting through a stack of plates that had accumulated over the week. “When was the last time you ate anything that didn’t come from a Styrofoam bowl?”

Jounouchi didn’t answer right away, his lips pursed in thought. “Probably last Monday?”

“Not since the damn sweet potatoes?”

“I don’t have time to cook Ishtar, I’m busy!” Jounouchi argued, leaning against the counter. He tipped the remaining dregs of soup into his mouth before crumpling the cup and chucking it into a nearby trash bin. “ _You_ try juggling university classes and a part time job every week; let’s see if you’ve still got the energy to bitch about having fresh vegetables.”

Malik rolled his eyes, setting the newly washed plates into the drying rack. “First of all, I’ll have you know that I have limitless energy to bitch about everything. Second, I’m not asking _you_ to cook, idiot. I want us to go shopping so _I_ can cook. I usually get home before you do; the food should be ready by the time you get back.”

“Appreciate the offer, but I like my food with meat.”

“And? I can cook meat.”

“Oh yeah?” Jounouchi asked sceptically. “How long’s it take for a steak to get medium rare?”

“...It can’t be that hard to figure out.”

“Nah, not risking it.”

Malik sighed. “Fine. What if we cook a huge batch of, I don’t know, _stew_ tomorrow and have leftovers for the rest of the week?” he suggested. “It’s getting colder after all.”

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind,” Jounouchi said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “We can keep the base and proteins separate and mix in different things every day, so we won’t get sick of it.”

“Exactly!” Malik beamed, going from grumpy to bubbly in the blink of an eye. “See? Told you I was easy to live with.”

“Eh, I’d say the jury’s still out on that one.”

“Seriously? After I washed your dishes and saved you from a life of hypertension?”

“You also insulted me like five different times.”

“Yes, but it came from a place of concern _,_ ” Malik insisted, doing his best impression of Ryou’s doe-eyed pout. It was somewhat unsettling how _not_ out of place the expression was on his face. Again, Jounouchi chalked it up to the lack of his signature kohl.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “If you really wanted to be the ‘perfect roommate’, you could stand to be a little nicer to me.”

“I’m nice!”

“Are you though?”

“You— You like pissing me off on purpose because you think it’s funny,” Malik said, pressing a finger onto Jounouchi’s chest. “Which means we’re even!”

“What?” Jounouchi gasped, feigning shock. “I would _never!_ ”

“Then why are you smiling, asshole?”

So he was. Whoops.

“It’s uh, nervous reflex,” he coughed, looking away. 

Instead of the snappy retort Jounouchi was expecting, Malik withdrew his hand and took a step back, gripping his wrist as if it had been burned. 

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried, if not a bit hurt. 

‘Fuck’ was the word that came to mind.

“I’m kidding,” Jounouchi said, giving Malik’s arm a playful punch as he forced himself to laugh. “Of course I have fun pissing you off, it’s like the easiest thing in the world to do.”

Malik didn’t seem convinced. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“You’re not—”

“Don’t lie.” 

Jounouchi sighed. “...You’re not _as_ bad as I thought you’d be,” he said, reluctant to say even that. 

“But I’m bad enough that you keep the knives hidden,” Malik said with a small frown.

Whatever Jounouchi was going to say next curled up and died on his tongue. There really wasn’t any way for him to respond to that.

“I found them while I was looking for something to eat,” Malik continued, opening the furthest cupboard. There was a thin gap between the left side and the ‘back’ wall — a slight nudge revealed it to be a makeshift compartment made to conceal a full set of kitchen knives.

Jounouchi swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Listen, I—”

“Honestly? I don’t blame you. Isis did the same thing when Rishid and I first moved in with her.”

“Your sister?” he asked in disbelief.

Malik shrugged, closing the cupboard with a soft click. “I deserved it. She didn't have any reason to trust me yet. It’s the same with you, right?”

“...I guess,” Jounouchi said, finally admitting to what he’d always known. He hadn’t expected to feel guilty about it though. Was it only because he got caught? He had every right to be cautious, didn’t he? This guy had a body count for goodness’ sake.

“Don’t worry,” Malik said reassuringly, which only helped to make things more awkward. “Maybe you can find a new hiding spot for them when I take a shower.”

Jounouchi raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Like you ever could to begin with.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?” he asked, unsure what to make of the situation. This was weird. Malik was taking this a little _too_ well. Was this the calm before the storm? He probably should’ve double checked those knives. 

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I said I didn’t trust you?”

“So? Half the time I don’t trust me,” Malik said dismissively. “You’re not special.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about you living in my house.”

“Throw me out then.”

“No!” Jounouchi said before he could stop himself, earning a curious look from Malik. 

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t _want_ to,” he said through gritted teeth. Jounouchi didn’t know what their argument was even about anymore, but he was determined to win it.

“Because you feel bad for me?” Malik suggested, tapping his cheek.

“Because you haven’t done anything to deserve it. Yet. ”

“So you think I will?”

“Not...really,” he admitted, realising as soon as the words left his mouth that he’d fallen right into Malik’s trap.

Damn it. Where the hell was Jinzo when you needed it?

“Ha!” Malik cried triumphantly, a fire reigniting in his eyes. “I _am_ growing on you!”

“Like mould,” Jounouchi grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face.

Malik grinned. “I’ll take it.”  
  


* * *

  
While they’d gone to the market with a list of ingredients for nikujaga, they returned hours later carrying bags full of everything but. Thanks to a kind woman they’d met on the way, they discovered that there really wasn’t much they could do to avoid using meat in the recipe, since the broth was beef based. Jounouchi refused to entertain a completely vegetarian version and Malik wasn’t about to start drinking cow, so the rest of their walk was spent quietly bickering amongst themselves as they tried to think of an alternative. 

In the end, they settled on the simple rice ball; easy to make, easy to customise, and surprisingly filling. The only downside was that they now had to lug home a new bag of rice, since the kind Jounouchi already had wasn’t ‘right’, according to their Google results.

At the market, Jounouchi discovered that Malik made for a very interesting shopping companion. He was easily distracted and weirdly excitable when presented with things he’d never seen before. Given his unfamiliarity with Japanese products, half of their trip involved Malik curiously poking and prodding anything that happened to catch his eye. The canned food section was a special kind of torture to get through as Malik tended to stop him every few steps to ask questions. The concept of canned bread seemed especially fascinating to him. 

He also liked to read. The blurbs on potato crisps that everyone ignored? Malik read them. Instructions on how to boil a particular type of noodle? Malik read them. The tiny stickers on apples? Malik read them. Jounouchi found it sort of endearing, albeit time consuming.

Thankfully, his patience was rewarded when Malik offered to pay for all of it using his company card, which was branded with an obnoxiously large KaibaCorp logo. Jounouchi wished Malik had thought to clue him in earlier — he’d have sprung for the premium tuna instead of something canned. 

Ah well.

By the time they left, the sun was already on its way down, the sky turning from vibrant orange to muted cobalt as the seconds ticked by. Malik had lost their game of janken and was made to carry the rice, though after being forced to carry the rest of their bags for a few minutes, Jounouchi wasn’t sure that he’d gotten the better end of the deal. 

The air grew colder as the sky fell darker, the trees casting long, spindly shadows that stretched across the streets like bony fingers. Malik stayed close to Jounouchi, babbling on about how the stars looked much dimmer here than they did in Egypt. For someone who had an admitted fear of the dark, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Granted, it became more obvious when Jounouchi would purposefully walk ahead of him just to watch Malik scramble to catch up. He earned a flat tire for his efforts. 

They were starving by the time they got back to the apartment, their meagre breakfasts already a distant memory on their taste buds. Luckily, Jounouchi fully expected this to happen, and revealed a pair of steamed buns he’d snuck into their purchases during checkout.

After assuring Malik several times that his bun only had vegetables in its filling, they ditched their groceries and hung around the kotatsu for ‘dinner’, half-watching a ridiculous looking gameshow while chatting about nothing in particular.

They’d found that it was extremely easy to make each other laugh, though it was usually at someone else’s expense. Jounouchi was used to being teased, but Malik clearly wasn’t; his indignant reactions to even the gentlest of ribbings were enough to leave Jounouchi in stitches. It made sense when he thought about it; not only was Malik the baby of the family, but he was also heir to his clan, putting him in a position near royalty. No one would have the guts to criticise him, and given Rishid’s visceral accounts of their father’s punishments, Jounouchi couldn’t really blame them.

It was no wonder he managed to be so haughty and yet so high-strung at the same time.

“Teach me how to cook rice,” Malik said, uninterested in watching grown men slap each other with eggplants. “I’ve heard Asians have a weird way of measuring the water ratio.”

“...Measuring the what now?”

A sigh. “The amount of water versus the amount of rice.”

“Oh that? My mom taught me to use the finger method,” Jounouchi shrugged, crumpling his bun wrapper into a neat little ball. “You put your middle finger on top of the rice and pour in water until it hits your first knuckle. Works every time.”

“Show me.”

“What, my middle finger?

“Jounouchi.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” Malik asked, already heading towards the kitchen. “It’s a Saturday night and neither of us have any plans, right?”

Jounouchi snorted. “Sounds pretty pathetic when you say it like that.”

“Because it is, now hurry up.”

“Hold your horses, we gotta put this shit away first,” Jounouchi said, sorting through the different ingredients they’d bought. Most of the heft came from the canned tuna, but Malik had slipped in an assortment of pickled vegetables that Jounouchi highly doubted he would enjoy eating. “Have you ever had any of this stuff before?”

“Nope,” Malik said, confirming Jounouchi’s suspicion. “But I figured I could always give them to Mokuba if they turn out gross.”

“You really think a kid would like ‘em instead?”

“If I lie about what’s inside? Yes.”

Jounouchi shook his head as he stowed the jars away. “And here I was thinking you were done with all that evil mastermind business.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a work in progress,” Malik said, heaving the bag of rice onto the counter.

What started as a short demonstration quickly turned into a rice ball assembly line, since they now had a perfectly good pot of rice that was practically begging to be used. Malik bought a variety of different rice seasonings and was adamant about using the packet with fried onion flakes first (“It’ll be like a downgraded koshary!”). Jounouchi thought they all tasted too similar to have much of a preference, but a happy Malik was much easier to deal with than a whiny one. They had a decent pile built up within the hour, more than enough to last them the rest of the week if Jounouchi kept his snacking in check.

There was a knock at the door just as Jounouchi started washing his hands, content with the 20-something misshapen rice balls he’d made. They weren’t very nice to look at, but he was confident that they would taste perfectly fine. As always, Malik’s creations were faring much better in the aesthetics department, though at the pace he was going he’d be lucky to reach the bottom of the rice pot by midnight.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked, checking the time on their microwave. Fifteen minutes to 10:00PM. “It’s kind of late for a surprise visit.”

Jounouchi dried his hands and peeked around the corner, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe the store called the cops on us for eating those grapes by checkout.”

“What!? But we only ate two each!”

“And they were sour,” Malik said, scrunching his nose. “No wonder they were half off.”

A second round of knocks interrupted their wandering conversation, this set somehow sounding more impatient than the last. A muffled voice called in from outside, but neither of them could make out anything they were saying. They exchanged glances and Malik took another handful of seasoned rice, having no interest in greeting the potential serial killer waiting outside their door.

Or worse, a salesman.

“Guess I should probably go see what they want. D’you think you can handle things while I’m gone?”

Malik looked down at their humble spread. A pot of rice, a plate of dried seaweed, and the bowl of canned tuna and mayonnaise Jounouchi had mixed together. Even his other personality would have a difficult time weaponising them. “...Pretty sure.”

Jounouchi gave him a thumbs up and headed towards the front door, grabbing an umbrella from the hallway closet. Their neighbourhood was one of the safest in the city, but it never hurt to be _too_ prepared.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on, I’m coming,” he said as the knocking started again. Jounouchi kept a tight grip on the umbrella as he unlocked the door. 

Before he could react, Honda Hiroto burst into the room, enveloping Jounouchi in a tight bear hug. 

So much for that umbrella. 

“Honda!?” Jounouchi sputtered, wriggling out of Honda’s suffocating embrace. It had been a while since they’d last seen each other; between Jounouchi’s classes and Honda’s new responsibilities at his father’s factory, they rarely had enough free time to meet. In any other circumstance, Jounouchi would have insisted they go out and catch up over some drinks.

However, this was the _one_ instance that Jounouchi didn’t want to see his old friend. 

In fact, he needed him to leave.

“What’s up man? I tried texting you this morning, but you never answered,” Honda said, setting his motorcycle helmet near the door as he slipped off his shoes. “My old man’s letting me take tomorrow off, so I figured you and I could hang out tonight. Are you busy?”

Jounouchi had no idea how not replying meant ‘sure, come over’, but he supposed it was too late to ask questions now. He glanced over his shoulder before nodding, much to Honda’s surprise. “Actually, I am. _Really_ busy.”

“With…?”

“I’ve got a house guest over and they’re kind of shy, so—”

“Oh _really?_ ” Honda said with a wry smile. “Is that why you’re acting so jumpy? Am I interrupting your date night?”

Jounouchi’s mouth ran dry at the implication, even though he knew Honda had no idea who the ‘guest’ was.

He considered his options. If he denied it, his pride would remain intact, but Honda would continue to barge in, see Malik, and most likely flip out. If he confirmed it, Malik would never let him live it down, _but_ Honda might choose to be considerate and leave. “...Yep. Totally. D’you think you could come by later tomorrow instead? We could swing by Burger World and have lunch.” 

“Of course, man.”

“Grea—”

“After I say ‘hi’,” he finished, making his way inside. “Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Wait, Honda!”

“Smells great in here; are you actually cooking something?”

“Honda—”

“Or did your ‘guest’ cook for you?” he teased, trying to catch the blond in a headlock. Jounouchi quickly ducked out of the way and ran in front of Honda, blocking him from entering the kitchen.

“Wait!” he panted, arms spread wide and body tense with panic. “Before you go in there, you have to promise me that you won’t freak ou—”

“Who was it?”

As luck would have it, Malik chose that exact moment to look into the hall, completely oblivious to the shitstorm that was about to take place. He regarded the newcomer quizzically, drawing a blank to both name and face. 

All humour fell from Honda’s features as he stared in disbelief and horror at the person who, last he checked, had tortured Jounouchi so severely that he'd ended up in a coma.

Malik Ishtar.

The lack of any lasting punishment or contempt from both Yuugi _and_ Jounouchi had always baffled him. So what if his ‘other half’ almost killed him? Malik was manipulative, cruel, and completely unhinged. If he’d died during his final duel with Yuugi, Honda wouldn’t have felt an ounce of sympathy. As far as he was concerned, Malik deserved everything that was coming to him, if not more. 

But nothing happened. Nobody pressed any charges and he was forgiven at the drop of a hat. Malik was simply allowed to return home with his siblings after a practised speech and a measly apology, his past records no doubt scrubbed due to his sister’s lofty position in the Egyptian government. How many lives had he destroyed? How many people were threatened and used to further his insane revenge plot? Why didn’t anyone else care?

And now, not only was he back in the country, but he was in his best friend's kitchen making...rice balls?

“...Want some?” Malik asked, holding up the one he’d finished shaping. 

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” he spat, shoving Jounouchi out of the way. 

Malik caught him before he stumbled into the small mountain of rice balls they’d spent the last hour preparing, though he’d knocked over a few empty coffee canisters they kept on the counter. He turned to Honda with a frown, annoyed that his unannounced visit had interrupted an otherwise pleasant evening. 

“Me? I live here,” he said coolly, setting his latest piece neatly on top of the pile. “So really, I should be asking you that question.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit.”

Jounouchi stepped in front of Malik before more could be said, hoping to prevent a fight from breaking out in his kitchen. “Yo Honda, remember when I told you to not freak out? You’re freaking out.”

Honda tore his gaze away from Malik and grabbed Jounouchi’s shoulders, frantically searching his eyes. “Is this a joke? Has he done anything to you? Is he in your head right now? Blink twice if you need me to punch him out!”

“What? No! I told you last month that I was having someone move in with me!”

“Are you serious? You had me spend my weekend clearing out your closet for _him?_ ” Honda asked incredulously, speaking as if Malik wasn’t standing within arm’s reach, still quietly making rice balls. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Would you calm the fuck down? This isn’t permanent — he’s got a one-year contract with KaibaCorp and needed a place to stay.”

“And you volunteered? This should be Kaiba’s responsibility!”

“His brother—”

“Is a goddamn liar, just like he is.”

Now that got Malik’s attention.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm.

Honda didn’t bother looking at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Or _what?_ ”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jounouchi cut in, slowly easing Malik away from Honda. “Chill out okay? I’ve got this.”

Honda let out a shaky laugh, unable to believe what he was seeing. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?”

“Defending him!”

“Hey, listen,” Jounouchi said evenly, placing his hand flat against Honda’s chest. “You and I can talk about this tomorrow, okay? I’ll explain everything. But right now, you need to leave.”

“What did they say to you?” Honda asked, still convinced that poor, simple Jounouchi had been tricked. “What are they offering you? Money? If you’re strapped for cash, you know I’m always here to help you out, Jounouchi.”

“Honda, _stop._ ”

“You know you can’t trust a thing the Ishtars say—”

“Honda—”

“—they’re all snakes!”

Malik had been trying his best to ignore the argument but refused to stay silent when his siblings were once again dragged through the mud. “How _dare_ you.”

Jounouchi grabbed him before he could make his way to Honda, knowing at least one, if not all of them, would wind up in the hospital if things got physical. This was much easier said than done, as Malik was shockingly strong despite his lean frame. It also didn’t help that he really, _really_ wanted to tear Honda’s throat out.

“How dare _me?_ Like you have any room to talk, murderer.”

“Call me whatever the fuck you want but keep my family name off your filthy tongue!”

“Fucking make me!”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Honda!” Jounouchi snarled, struggling to keep Malik restrained. “Knock it off!”

“Dude, he literally tried to kill you!”

“Yeah? So did Kaiba.”

“But is _he_ living in your house?”

“Will you drop it already?

“Does Yuugi know about this?”

“Yeah, he does! Everyone fucking knows about it! Hell, we all had dinner together! It was great! No one died!”

Honda paused, a pained look crossing his face. “You didn’t invite me?”

“No. ‘Cause I knew you’d do _this,_ ” Jounouchi said, presumably referring to the chaotic situation they were now in.

With a frustrated growl, Malik ripped himself free from Jounouchi’s grasp and stormed into his bedroom, leaving the two of them alone. Jounouchi squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he’d be getting an earful before the night was over.

Honda swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “I don’t get it. Why would you do this?”

“I don’t care whether you get it. _I_ know what I’m doing, and I don’t need you, or Otogi, or anyone else to tell me this guy’s got a record. I fucking know what he did; I was on the receiving end, remember?”

“I’m just trying to look out for you man,” Honda insisted, his voice low. “I don’t trust that guy.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t trust me either,” Jounouchi said with a strained smile.

“Of course I trust you!”

“Then you think I’m stupid.”

Honda scoffed. “In this case? Yeah Jounouchi, I think you’re being really fucking stupid.”

“Great. Get out.”

“...What?”

“Get out,” Jounouchi repeated. “Now.”

“I’m not leaving you here with him.”

“Get out, Honda.”

“I don’t know what he did to you, but I’m—”

Jounouchi’s patience had officially worn out. In one fluid motion he had Honda pinned against the wall, clutching his shirt’s collar in a tight fist. _“Get the fuck out of my house!”_

Honda thought it was all a joke at first — after all, they used to ‘fight’ all the time at school. It happened so often that even the teachers didn’t bother telling them off. However, there was a genuine anger burning in Jounouchi’s amber eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not since he cut ties with his father and left to live on his own. While he still suspected Malik had something to do with his friend’s behaviour, he doubted the Egyptian’s powers would be able to replicate an expression very few had seen.

He held up his hands, retreating into the hallway when Jounouchi loosened his grip. Honda stooped down to gather his things as Jounouchi walked past him, opening the door. The evening air had a biting chill that nipped at his bare feet, but Jounouchi was too heated to care. 

Honda stepped outside, chewing his bottom lip before turning back to Jounouchi.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he asked quietly. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

Jounouchi stared at him for a moment before breathing a humourless chuckle, shaking his head as he closed the door.

“Nah.”  
  


* * *

  
Jounouchi expected to find Malik’s room completely trashed when he finally worked up the nerve to peek inside, but what he saw instead was almost eerie in its normalcy. 

Malik was lying on his stomach reading a book, acting like the whole debacle with Honda never happened. None of his furniture had been overturned, none of his clothes were strewn around, and (thankfully) there weren’t any new holes punched into the walls. Jounouchi had no idea _why_ he’d been prepared to see something along those lines, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down just yet. 

He rapped lightly on the sliding door, catching Malik’s attention. 

“Hey,” he said, his throat painfully dry from all the yelling. “How’re you holding up?”

Malik looked a bit confused. “Fine?”

“You sure?” Jounouchi asked, still lingering by the door. “You were pretty worked up back there.”

“I’m fine.”

Jounouchi frowned.

He didn’t sound mad. Or upset.

He didn’t sound like anything really.

It was then that he noticed the room was dimmer than Malik usually kept it. The handful of lights he had around the room were off — not because they’d been broken or unplugged, but because Malik hadn’t bothered to turn them on. Against his better judgement, Jounouchi took a few tentative steps inside, looking around to see if anything else was ‘wrong’.

Then, he saw them.

Thin rivulets of blood trailed from crescent-shaped divots dug into Malik’s upper arms; even from a distance Jounouchi could see how deep the punctures were. He noted with a chill that they lay right where Malik usually wore his arm bands.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re n—” Jounouchi stopped dead in his tracks, realising that Malik’s face was wet with tears. He seemed unaware of this however, as he continued to stare at Jounouchi like he’d sprouted a second head.

“I’m fine,” Malik repeated, though a whisper of uncertainty now rippled through his words. Jounouchi kept his distance, unsure if there was any way he could help, or if Malik even wanted his help after what happened.

Eventually, the facade crumbled.

Malik trembled as fresh tears spilt anew, dripping onto his book's cheap paper pages. He lowered his gaze, his breath coming in short, shuddering gasps as he fought hard to regain his composure. Unable to just stand by and watch, Jounouchi drew closer, his hands hovering over Malik’s shaken form, afraid that touching him would only make things worse. 

“Mal?” he said softly.

“I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: self-harm** \- This chapter contains a brief scene of implied self harm after the third line break, specifically after: _Then, he saw them._ Feel free to skip the next few paragraphs; you're in the clear once Jounouchi says: _“No, you’re n—”_
> 
> \--
> 
> I'm honestly surprised and flattered at how many readers are giving this rarepair a chance; thank you all so much for your support! I might upload the next chapter a little earlier because the next scheduled update is actually on my birthday, but we'll see ^^-
> 
> Any kudos, thoughts, and comments are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Malik had only been living in Domino for a little over three weeks, but he’d already learnt so much. How to navigate the Japanese subway system, how to haggle ‘politely’, and that he really hated baking anything unless it came out of a box.

He’d come home from work to balloons and a garish birthday banner hanging over their doorway and for a moment he was convinced he’d somehow blanked for several months and woken up on the worst possible day of the year. A smell that he could only describe as ‘a mistake’ was coming from inside, distracting him from his thoughts and bringing him inside to investigate. 

Thankfully, nothing was (actively) on fire. Jounouchi was cradling a burnt baking pan _,_ mumbling something about a broken timer. He’d attempted to make a multi-tiered strawberry cake for Ryou’s birthday, but now had to settle for a boring, reasonably sized one. Relieved that the decorations weren’t for _his_ birthday (and feeling a little embarrassed for even jumping to that conclusion), Malik offered to help remake the failed creation, conveniently leaving out that he’d never baked anything more involved than pull apart cookies.

Twenty-five to thirty minutes later, according to a functioning timer this time, they had a very lopsided, but perfectly edible vanilla cake.

“Do you think he’ll be upset we didn’t get him anything?” Malik asked, nibbling on one of the leftover strawberries. The cream had successfully masked the cake’s minor imperfections, but it still looked like it was about to topple over at any second. “I kind of hope he does. I’ve never seen him angry before.”

“We made him a cake and I’m paying for his pizza,” Jounouchi said, sliding their creation into the refrigerator. “Our _presence_ is a present.”

“...Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“It’s gonna have to because I don’t have anything else to give him except a winning smile.”

Malik snorted. “Poor Ryou. What time are they coming again?” 

“The pizza guy or the guy guys?”

“The...what?”

“Pizza’s coming at seven-thirty, which means…” Jounouchi checked his watch. “Yuugi and Ryou have about fifteen minutes to get their asses here before I eat theirs.”

“Doesn’t Ryou like putting pineapple on his though?”

“Yeah, we can toss that one in the garbage where it belongs.”

The laughter that bubbled from Malik was surprisingly pleasant, though Jounouchi couldn’t pinpoint why.

“In that case, I’m going to change,” Malik said, pulling out his hair tie. “I don’t want to look like a sexy librarian for all the photos.”

“Eh, I’d say that getup’s more sexy secretary.”

Malik rolled his eyes as he walked past. “As long as we both agree I’m sexy.”

“It was a _joke_ Ishtar!” Jounouchi called after him, checking his own appearance in the hallway mirror. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I sleep perfectly fine, thank you,” he mumbled indignantly to his reflection.

Jounouchi was relieved Malik had bounced back so quickly after the incident with Honda. While they hadn’t talked about what happened at length, Malik seemed more preoccupied about keeping what happened a secret from his siblings, convinced Isis would levitate to Japan fuelled by pure rage and deck Honda herself. She didn’t strike Jounouchi as the violent type, but he figured her little brother would know more about that than anyone else. 

Still, Malik’s reaction was worrying. Rishid had mentioned him having ‘episodes’ once or twice, usually when he was too tired to filter his thoughts, but never went into much detail. Jounouchi didn’t need Rishid to tell him that Malik’s mental health was held together with safety pins and duct tape, but he’d expected Malik’s mood swings to be violent and destructive, not...whatever that was. Was it a side effect of what Atem had done to his other personality? That thing was gone, wasn’t it? Otherwise Honda would have triggered it.

...Right? 

Jounouchi’s tongue poked out as he tried to tame a stubborn cowlick, wondering if it was worth investing in whatever gorilla grip hair gel Yuugi used to accomplish his trademark spikes. Just when he’d gotten it pinned down, the doorbell rang.

“...We have a doorbell?” He blinked, amazed that no one had tried to use it in the two years he’d lived there.

Giving up on his hair, Jounouchi made his way to the front door and welcomed Yuugi and Ryou inside, checking to make sure the pizza guy hadn’t followed them up before replacing the locks. He and Yuugi shared an overdue hug as Ryou shrugged off his coat, hanging it next to Jounouchi’s backpack. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Yuugi said breathlessly, patting Jounouchi’s arm as he pulled away. “We had to stop by Happy Mart so Ryou could use the washroom.”

“And they wouldn’t let me unless I bought something,” Ryou huffed. 

“I told him to wait until we got here—”

“And _I_ told _him_ that I’ve been having this recurring nightmare where I accidentally clog a friend’s toilet and have no choice but to go outside and tell them in nothing but my underwear,” Ryou said, acting as if that was a completely normal, not weird thing to admit. “Anyway, I’ve brought some Mexican peanuts!”

“...Did you uh, get a little pre-birthday drinking in before Yuugi picked you up?” Jounouchi asked, unsure how else to respond to that. 

Ryou cleared his throat, his ears turning a light shade of pink. “A touch.”

“You know, I’d always pinned you for a lush,” Malik said as he slipped out of Jounouchi’s bedroom, his hair redone into a loose braid tied off with a small golden band. “Is the food here yet?”

“Nah, but the birthday boy is,” Jounouchi said, slinging an arm over Ryou’s shoulder. “Along with the biggest threat to KaibaCorp since Industrial Illusions.”

Malik hadn’t even noticed Yuugi when he came out, somehow missing his distinctive hairstyle. Like Mokuba, he’d retained his baby-face, but Yuugi looked less like the wide-eyed idealist Malik remembered him as and more like the Pharaoh he once shared a body with. He’d also apparently moved past his leather phase, now favouring a cosier, modest style that Malik associated with university students running on two hours of sleep. 

Regardless, he was still laughably short.

Yuugi approached him with a wide grin, clearly happier to see Malik than Malik was to see him.

Or maybe he was just better at faking it.

“Long time no see!” he said, raising a hand in greeting. Malik returned the gesture, secretly relieved the other hadn’t gone in for a handshake. “How are you liking Japan?”

“It’s definitely been an adjustment, but everyone’s been really nice so far. I get complimented on my pronunciation twenty times a day though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Yuugi said sheepishly. “People here get super excited when someone from overseas knows anything more than ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’.”

“I gathered.”

“Ryou mentioned that you were working for KaibaCorp now?”

“It’s a contract agreement, but yeah, I’ll be around for at least a year.”

There was a knock at the door and Jounouchi excused himself to answer, the scent of cheese and crispy cured meats already wafting into the hallway. Ryou followed him, afraid that Jounouchi might own up to his favourite threat and actually try to bin his pineapple pizza. Without them, Malik realised that standing next to Yuugi all by himself was a horribly uncomfortable situation he needed to get out of as quickly as possible. 

But of course, nothing ever went his way. 

“What is he having you work on?” Yuugi asked, trailing the blond as he walked into the kitchen to clear space for the pizzas.

“It’s confidential,” Malik answered, hoping that would be enough to get Yuugi to leave him alone.

“Aw come on; not even a little hint?”

He paused, a brilliant idea popping into his head. “...You know, given KaibaCorp’s super strict policies, we probably shouldn’t even be speaking to each other right now. What if I accidentally let something slip? You might steal it and develop something suspiciously similar. Then I’d get sued for revealing company secrets, lose, and be forced onto the streets. After months of begging, I’d ultimately succumb to my hunger pangs and resort to cannibalism, which would inevitably be recorded by a random teenager and go viral. Rumours of a zombie apocalypse would circulate, international militaries would overreact, and human civilisation as we know it would come to an end.”

“...Uh—”

“Shh, think of the zombies.”

Yuugi laughed, effectively thrusting a pin into Malik’s bubble of hope. Again.

“Don’t worry, Kaiba and I actually collaborate on projects all the time! The whole rivalry thing’s just a joke Jounouchi won’t let go of.”

“...I see.”

“But I completely understand if you don’t want to tell me yet,” Yuugi said. “You’ve only been there a little over two weeks, right? It’s still in its planning stages anyway.”

“If you end up getting offered a more permanent position, would you consider staying?” Ryou asked, bringing in two of the boxes and setting them onto the counter. Jounouchi set another two next to them, skirting around the group to get Ryou’s cake out of the refrigerator. 

Malik shrugged. “I’d have to find my own place first, but I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Oh, I’m sure Jounouchi wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit longer—” 

“I wouldn’t want to overstay—”

“—isn’t that right, Jounouchi?” Ryou asked, his smile almost threatening.

Jounouchi glanced up upon hearing his name the second time, too focused on making sure they had enough clean cups to pay much attention to the conversation. Both Ryou and Yuugi were staring at him expectantly.

“...Yes?” he said slowly, gauging their reaction to figure out if he’d said what they wanted to hear. 

“See? You can stay as long as you like,” Ryou said brightly. 

Malik frowned, annoyed that he was so enthusiastic. He bit his tongue hard to stop himself from talking back; getting into an argument with Ryou on his birthday wouldn’t be the best decision, especially in front of Yuugi.

Then again, why did he care what Yuugi thought of him? Without the Pharaoh he wasn’t anything special. He was just some guy. 

“Malik?”

He blinked, finally registering that Yuugi had been trying to hand him his pizza for the past ten seconds. Malik hastily accepted it, double checking to make sure he’d gotten the right one. Granted, it didn’t take too long to confirm — with all the greens it was practically a salad compared to everyone else’s. He squinted at Jounouchi’s order, eyes widening when he recognised what was drizzled on top. 

“Is that mayonnaise?” he asked, horrified. 

Jounouchi grinned, enjoying Malik’s obvious disgust. “Sure is!”

“It’s pretty common over here,” Yuugi added, showing off his own pizza. “Is it really that weird? It’s basically just egg ketchup.”

“You aren’t helping your case.”

“At least it ain’t _pineapple,_ ” Jounouchi said, throwing a dirty look at Ryou’s. 

Ryou stared back as he took a large bite from his first slice, daring him to say more. “Maybe I only order it with pineapple to keep you from stealing a slice.”

“Well it’s working.”

“All according to plan then.”

Malik shook his head and went back into the kitchen to finish off the cake, grabbing a handful of light blue candles and carefully arranging them around the crown of strawberries decorating the top. He circled the dessert, lips pursed as he tried to judge whether everything was evenly spaced. 

“How many candles is this thing supposed to have again?” he asked, gently nudging a berry into place. “Forty-five?”

Yuugi frowned. “Don’t be mean Malik, he’s only thirty-seven.”

“Could’ve sworn he was fifty-nine last year,” Jounouchi mused, rubbing his chin.

Ryou rolled his eyes, ripping off his pizza’s crust and setting it aside. “You’re all very original and funny,” 

Their light-hearted teasing continued throughout dinner, with Jounouchi being the butt of almost every other joke. He was the only one without leftovers, while Ryou and Malik seemed to be competing for who could eat the least. Ryou claimed he was saving space for cake and Malik simply wasn’t used to eating such rich food. Yuugi had offered him a taste of his mayonnaise and fried potato pizza, which only succeeded in killing his already fragile appetite.

Once Jounouchi brought out the matches, all attention turned to the soon to be devoured strawberry shortcake, which had been carefully moved onto the middle of the kotatsu. Ryou posed as Yuugi and Malik snapped their share of photos, swapping phones as they each took their turn standing next to the birthday boy. Being the tallest, Jounouchi was put in charge of the final group photo, though it took him several tries to get both the cake and Ryou’s full face in the shot. Yuugi then led them through a very out-of-tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ before Ryou made his wish and blew out the candles. 

“Remember to keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Yuugi warned. 

“Is that how it works?” Malik asked, his tone so genuinely curious that Ryou was taken aback. Had Malik never properly celebrated his birthday since coming to the surface?

He chuckled softly. “It’s not a law, but that’s how the superstition goes, yes.”

Malik could help but wonder if revealing his birthday wishes as a child had any part in his life turning out the way it did. Superstitions usually had _some_ roots in truth, right? 

Meanwhile, Jounouchi had finished setting up his old Gamestation and was rummaging around for more controllers, discovering a host of other items he’d once thought lost forever. 

“Amazing how much missing shit shows up when you aren’t looking for it,” he said, holding up a hair tie that Shizuka had misplaced during her last visit. “Think I’ll find another Millennium Item in the back?”

Yuugi knelt beside him, peering into the drawer with a grimace. So this is where Jounouchi hid the apartment’s messes. “I’m sure the Millennium Paperclip would love to have you as its wielder.”

“Maybe I’ll get possessed by Atem’s librarian.”

“At least wait until I’m out of the room before you blaspheme,” Malik said with a huff, standing by the door while Ryou finished tying up his boots. “We’re going out for some fresh air; it smells like onions in here.”

“Don’t you guys want to play Superb Bash Brothers?” Yuugi asked. “We can do it tournament style and pass around the loser’s controller.”

“I’d rather not spend my birthday getting pummelled by the King of Games, thank you,” Ryou laughed, buttoning up his jacket. “We’ll be out by the car if you need anything.”

As Malik turned to open the door, something soft and warm was flung into his face, muffling his startled scream. Ryou’s mouth fell open at the sudden appearance of the blue jacket now wrapped around Malik’s head like an octopus, recognising it as the one Jounouchi had been wearing all evening. He looked over his shoulder quizzically and was only met with a shrug from Yuugi. 

“I keep telling that dumbass to get a real jacket,” Jounouchi said irritably, his attention on the game’s character select screen. “One of these days he’s gonna come back with the monia.”

Ryou lightly massaged his temple. “You mean ‘pneumonia’?”

“Why the hell would I want to wear your sweaty clothes?” Malik snarled, finally freeing himself. 

“Go freeze then.”

“I will!”

“No, you won’t,” Ryou sighed. “He’s right, you should wear something thicker; it’ll get colder once the sun fully sets.”

“I’ll be fine,” Malik insisted, taking a single step outside before he started shivering.

Damn it.

It took almost a full minute of silent glaring before Malik relented, pulling on the jacket while muttering what Ryou assumed were Arabic obscenities under his breath. He’d never seen anyone over the age of six make such a fuss over putting a sweater on, but there was a first time for everything.

Malik drew the hood up before opening the door again, this time bracing himself for the chilly evening wind. Despite their similar heights, the fit was much baggier than he liked, the sleeves flopping uselessly over his hands as he and Ryou made their way downstairs. Malik was grateful that the area around their complex was well lit, though he’d yet to venture outside alone after night fell.

Once they hit the ground, Ryou led him towards Yuugi’s car, an unimpressive, practical little thing that most likely belonged to his mother before being passed down. Ryou stifled a yawn and carefully climbed onto the car’s hood, scooting aside as Malik joined him. With the twilight sky providing a relaxing backdrop, they fell into a meandering conversation about whatever came to mind, from Ryou’s school related woes to Malik’s frustration with KaibaCorp’s finicky cappuccino machine. 

Considering Malik’s less than stellar reputation, Ryou was surprised they got along so well. Though admittedly, it was hard for him to judge Malik’s behaviour during Battle City when he was unconscious for approximately...all of it.

Then again, he figured his overall ignorance to Malik’s worst was why he found it so easy to give him another chance. While he didn’t doubt the others’ stories about him being an absolute terror, the Malik he’d gotten to know while staying with the Ishtars was affable and charming, though he came with a brand of arrogance that gave Kaiba’s a run for its money.

Upon learning that Ryou held an interest in lesser known artifacts, Malik risked his sister’s good graces and snuck him into restricted areas of their museum to preview hundreds of items yet to be displayed, acting as Egypt’s most apathetic tour guide. While it was obvious that Malik had grown weary of the subject, Ryou found his tangents and useless bits of trivia utterly fascinating. He had no idea how or why Malik knew the personal grooming habits of Atem’s court, but it was somehow even more interesting when retold by someone who could clearly give less of a fuck.

As far as Ryou was concerned, Malik was a good guy.

But then there was the elephant in the room: his former partnership with the spirit that tried its absolute best to ruin Ryou’s life. It was a topic Malik avoided whenever they had their chats, but Ryou could feel it looming in the background like an unwanted guest.

That night, Malik chose to open the door.

“Do you ever think about him?” he asked quietly, eyes drawn to the stars sprinkled across the dusky purple sky. “The spirit of the Ring?”

Ryou stilled, glancing at his companion. Had Malik really chosen his birthday to bring this up?

He thought for a moment, licking his chapped lips before answering. “Sometimes. But not in the way you’d think.”

Malik looked back at him, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, take today for example,” he said, nodding towards the birthday banner that was already sliding off Jounouchi’s door. “If he were here, I don’t think I would’ve been able to enjoy something like this. It’s nice being able to do normal things without having to worry about someone getting hurt.” 

“I’m guessing you weren’t as choked up about him leaving as Yuugi was when the Pharaoh left?”

Ryou closed his eyes, the cool evening breeze tousling his fringe. “Hardly. I’m sure Yuugi was devastated to lose his partner, but for me it was like finally taking in a breath of fresh air.”

Every night since the accursed Ring selected him as its host, he was forced to watch the same three disjointed scenes on loop. Even after five years, Ryou could recall them with frightening clarity: a woman’s screams, a roaring fire, and a river of blood slowly dripping into a lake of molten gold. Perhaps it was a bid for sympathy, or an unintended side effect of the Ring’s dark magic, but for a time Ryou’s heart ached for the poor soul who experienced these memories first-hand. At one point, he’d even believed the spirit’s actions justified.

But then he came to the slow realisation that the _thing_ that inhabited the Ring was no longer the mortal soul of an ill-fated thief; whether through time or corruption, it had twisted into something else entirely, something wicked and evil and blacker than the night sky without the moon and stars. Whatever lurked in the Ring wasn’t deserving of human sympathy, much less love.

He wondered if Malik had come to his senses too. 

Ryou wasn’t quite sure how to describe the relationship between Malik and the spirit of the Ring. He’d never known the spirit to be particularly cooperative, so their agreement must have had a mutual benefit. The brief glimpses of Malik Ryou was allowed while possessed had led him to suspect the youngest Ishtar harboured feelings for the vengeful entity, but now he wasn’t so sure. Malik had been willing to sacrifice _everything_ so his family could live in the light; why would he align himself with something that proudly declared it was darkness itself?

Maybe he’d mistaken the stolen glances and playful teasing for something more than they were ever meant to be. 

Ryou opened his eyes to find Malik peering at him curiously. There was no question that he was difficult to deal with, and Ryou was surprised to hear that Jounouchi of all people had risen to the challenge. But at least he was _trying_ to be better, which was more than anyone could ever say about the spirit of the Ring.

“Sorry, kind of zoned out there,” Ryou said sheepishly. “Um...what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you still think about it? I mean, him?”

Malik fell silent, gazing up at the stars with a melancholy expression.

“I actually don’t remember much about him at all.”

“You don’t?” Ryou asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

Malik shook his head, his earrings glinting in the low light. “Every time I try, my mind draws a blank. I remember meeting him and I remember helping him duel, but everything after that is just...nothing.”

Years of experience as a DM had helped Ryou perfect his poker face, but even he was having trouble masking his concern. Though he could count his moments of clarity on a single hand, Ryou knew that _something_ had transpired between Malik and the spirit prior to its final gambit for the Pharaoh’s life. He had almost a month’s worth of missing school assignments to show for it.

“That’s understandable,” he said, making sure to keep his tone light. “It must have taken you a while to recover from your duel with the Pharaoh. Jounouchi told me you were strung up like a puppet for hours.”

“You think so?” Malik asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Ryou wasn’t sure how or why that month had apparently been wiped from Malik’s memories, but he had a sinking feeling there was good reason behind it. However, he didn’t see any point in bringing up what little he knew. Would it really be so terrible if those events were lost to time? After all, the spirit was gone and Malik was here, alive and (arguably) well.

“I do. Besides, I doubt it was anything important; what else would you have said to each other? ‘Thanks for nothing’?”

“But—”

“You know, you’ll go grey if you keep stressing over silly things like this,” Ryou said, nudging his shoulder. “What’s done is done, there’s no use dwelling on it. All you can do is keep moving forward and hope for the best.”

Malik fought the urge to groan at Ryou's unprompted advice. Inspiring as it was, he'd heard it all before — from his sister, his brother, even the therapist that mysteriously became fully booked every time he tried to schedule an appointment. 

As much as he wanted to let things go, there were times when that option wasn’t possible.

Honda's outburst was proof of that.

It didn't matter how hard he worked to overcome the guilt; eventually, someone would come along to dig it up and smear it in his face. Malik couldn’t fault them for it either. After what he’d done to everyone, even his own father, he deserved every bit of vitriol aimed at him.

“You sound like my sister sometimes,” he grumbled, though Ryou could hear the faintest hint of amusement. “Always barging into my life with help I didn’t ask for.”

“It’s because we’re both so ancient and wise.”

Malik gave him a look. “You’re like four months older than me.”

“Ancient and wise,” he repeated, hunching over and teetering back and forth, doing his best impression of a toothless old man. Malik bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, refusing to give Ryou the satisfaction.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ah, I remember when I was your age,” Ryou continued, placing a quivering hand on Malik’s arm and giving it a light pat. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, because evidently that was a thing that old people did. “So young and full of promise. It feels like it was only yesterday—”

“Because it was.”

“—that I was a disrespectful little whelp who interrupted his elders while they were trying to world build.”

“Just trying to stay on brand, Gramps,” Malik said with a smirk. “Now quit walking around like that, you’ll sprain something.”

Ryou straightened his posture and winced, pressing a fist lightly against the base of his spine. After making sure he hadn’t accidentally given himself back problems, he searched his pockets and took out a piece of wrapped candy, holding it out to Malik with a smile. 

“Want some Botan? My grandparents used to give these to me all the time.”

“Wow, you’re committed to this gag, aren’t you?”

Malik inspected the small sweet, noting the sugary coating that sparkled like crushed diamonds in the moonlight. He hadn’t had the best experience with Japanese candies, but Ryou usually knew what he was talking about when it came to things that caused cavities.

“Does it taste like flowers or something?”

“It’s a generic citrus flavour I think,” Ryou said. “To be honest, it isn’t anything special. The rice paper wrapping is probably the most interesting thing about—”

He paused, seeing the panicked look on his friend’s face.

“...Malik?”

A faint whimpering was his only response.

For a moment Ryou thought something sinister was afoot, something that involved a facet of Malik that all the horror stories seemed to stem from.

But then he noticed the candy was gone. 

“Oh my _God,_ did I accidentally give you a moisture packet!?” he asked, frantically pulling everything out of his pockets.

Malik’s lilac eyes were watering. He shuddered and coughed, spitting the seemingly innocuous sweet onto the pavement. Ryou raised an eyebrow, wondering why a bland candy had invoked such an extreme response. Upon inspecting the saliva-soaked sphere, his cheeks burned pink.

He’d accidentally handed Malik one of the sourest candies available on the Japanese market.

“...Oops.”

“ _Oops!?_ ” Malik said incredulously, throat still stinging from the overly acidic coating. “I could have died!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ryou frowned, now mildly upset that he’d wasted a perfectly good sour ball. They’d become a popular way for streamers to bait views, so finding them for a reasonable price took considerable effort. He found them rather fun to eat, but could understand why Malik reacted as he did, especially since he’d been expecting something tame enough to be associated with the elderly. 

“What the fuck even was that!?”

“A Nobel Sour.”

“A what?”

“It was lemon flavoured.”

“That was a weapon.”

“Oh _please._ ” 

“I could’ve choked!”

“I know the Heimlich manoeuvre. ...Well, most of it.”

“Ryou!”

He shrugged. “It would’ve turned sweeter if you’d kept sucking.” 

“The hell am I listening to?” a third voice called from afar. “This here’s a classy neighbourhood you two; go be degenerate somewhere else!”

Malik and Ryou turned to see Jounouchi and Yuugi walking towards them, each carrying a shopping bag full of leftovers from their pizza party. Yuugi had also brought along Ryou’s bag and the rest of the cake, knowing he’d be more than happy to finish it himself throughout the week. 

“Ryou tried to poison me,” Malik said miserably, attempting his best wounded puppy look. “I barely survived.”

“I gave him a Nobel Sour instead of some Botan by mistake,” Ryou explained, showing them the discarded wrapper. “He’s just being a baby. Also, he littered.”

“I think I’m dying.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Kaiba you won’t be coming in tomorrow then,” Jounouchi snickered, casually ruffling Malik’s hair. The action did not go unnoticed by their guests. “You guys sure you don’t want to stay the night? We could move some furniture to make space.”

“I would if I could, but I promised I’d help Grandpa open the store tomorrow morning,” Yuugi said apologetically. “Cold weather makes his joints extra crunchy.”

“And I have classes all day,” Ryou said, carefully taking both the cake and his share of the night’s leftovers. “Otherwise I would have loved to. Oh!” He jumped, nearly dropping everything he was holding. “We could have one this Halloween! I found an old book while browsing the university’s librar—”

Jounouchi cleared his throat. “I dunno about that Ryou.”

“Really? After dealing with _real_ ancient spirits and shadow magic, ghost stories are still too much for you?”

“It’s not that!” he insisted. “How can we be sure that book’s not some cursed artifact from Bolivia? For all we know you’re gonna accidentally summon another vengeful demon reading chapter two.”

Yuugi laughed nervously, scratching his cheek. “You know, he’s got a point Ryou. We don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to these things.”

“Honestly, you get possessed _one_ time,” Ryou said, shaking his head. “Ah well, we can always plan things later. Yuugi and I need to get going before the night clowns come.”

“Night clowns?” Malik and Jounouchi repeated, one intrigued, the other terrified.

Ryou only smiled.

“Thanks again for inviting us! It was nice seeing you again Malik,” Yuugi said, giving the blond a respectful nod. “We should keep in touch going forward.” 

“We should,” Malik agreed, though it felt like he was only doing so to get him to leave faster. “As long as you’re willing to foot the bill on any international charges.”

Yuugi grinned. “We’ll see whether my start-up salary can compete with a KaibaCorp contract first.”

“Hm. Deal.”

“Drive safe guys,” Jounouchi said, holding the door open for Ryou while also discreetly making sure there weren’t any alleged night clowns around. “See you when I see you!”

As they pulled out of the lot, Yuugi rolled down the passenger’s side window, allowing Ryou to wave goodbye until the apartment complex was well out of sight.

He sat back into his seat with a tired sigh, the neon lights of Domino passing in a vibrant blur outside his window. While he considered the night an overall success, the revelation of Malik's memory gaps continued to gnaw at the back of his mind. He promised himself that he'd leave well enough alone, but the fact the spirit of the Ring was involved made him feel partially responsible for whatever it was that happened.

At the same time, he didn’t think it was any of his business to pry, and he certainly wasn't about to tell Yuugi about it. There wasn't any animosity between them, but Ryou could sense that Malik was still uncomfortable around the Pharaoh's former partner. He also doubted that Yuugi would be able to take a passive approach if magical meddling was involved, which would most likely lead them into an even bigger mess.

“...So how long do you think it’ll take before they get together?” Yuugi asked suddenly, violet eyes trained onto the road. “They already seem pretty comfortable with each other.”

Ryou blinked, mouth slightly agape. So this was what Yuugi concerned himself with when the world was at peace. He scoffed.

“I think the real question is how long it will take for Jounouchi to admit it.”

“To Malik?”

“To himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [kicks another mystery into the pot]
> 
> I hope everyone has a relaxing holiday! Comments and kudos are always appreciated~


	6. Chapter 6

Nearly a month after Malik’s first day, Seto finally finished arranging their ‘field trip’ to Kaiba Land.

For research purposes, of course.

The delay was partially due to Malik’s insistence that Seto tag along with him and Mokuba, claiming he’d feel less awkward about using his front of the line pass if he were with a ‘celebrity’. He was secretly hoping to see Seto in a Hawaiian t-shirt and flip flops, but apparently, Seto’s wardrobe consisted entirely of moody trench coats and business casual looks from whatever the rich person equivalent of Uniqlo was.

While KaibaCorp’s products had become more coveted and inaccessible as the years went on, Kaiba Land somehow managed to stay true to its roots. The amusement park wasn’t quite up to par with the ones from a certain _other_ soulless megacorporation, however there was enough to see and do that one could easily spend their day wandering around and taking in the sights. Though company products were advertised at every opportunity, the park was primarily a place for kids and their families to spend time together. Ticket prices were reasonable and the food options were varied and affordable despite Seto readily admitting he wouldn’t eat there himself unless held at gunpoint.

Most of the attractions were simulation rides that relied heavily on augmented reality, KaibaCorp’s forte. Although the subject matter varied from ride to ride, at their core, they were small theatres that jostled guests around while they tried to watch a 3D movie; some even pumped in different scents to add to the realism. Malik didn’t think that sounded very appealing, but the hour-long queues proved otherwise.

Malik was photographing a statue of Kuriboh positioned outside of _Kuriboh’s Multiplying Mishap!,_ noting that it wasn’t as well kept as the numerous Blue Eyes littered throughout the park. He’d spent half the day documenting everything they came across, worried that he’d forget most of it on the train ride home. It was a given he’d be overwhelmed, but the added pressure of coming up with an attraction that would match the quality of existing rides was enough to make his head spin.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try going on one of these?” Mokuba asked, popping into frame. “It’d probably be a good idea to get a sense of what we’re expecting out of you. Kuriboh’s the tamest out of all of them, if you’re worried about motion sickness.”

Malik peeked over his phone and glanced at the queue; nearly everyone waiting was either a child or a parent. “Isn’t this a kid’s ride?”

Mokuba snorted. “I don’t think you’re ready for _Blue Eyes Ultimate Adventure._ That one doesn’t just shake you left and right, it spins you up and down too.”

“So? I’ve totalled my motorcycle more times than I can count and I’ve never thrown up once.”

“All that tells me is that you’re a terrible driver. Besides, you’re in control of that. You won’t know when to brace yourself on a ride, especially if you’ve never been on it before.”

Malik huffed, annoyed that he couldn’t argue against that.

He spotted Seto loitering near the entrance of the ride, phone in one hand, fourth cup of coffee in the other. Though he’d been shadowing them all day, Malik hadn’t seen him raise his head once. During their visit, he'd discovered that Seto had a disturbingly passionate fanbase. More than a few people had burst into tears at the mere sight of him and he’d caught a number of starry-eyed high schoolers taking candid photos of his back.

Mokuba assured him this was all normal. 

“Let’s go to the Blue Eyes thing you mentioned,” he said, loud enough for Seto to hear. “Your brother should ride it too; make sure it’s up to company standard and whatnot.”

Mokuba grinned, immediately catching onto Malik’s plan. He loved his brother, he really did, but even he had to admit that a ride or two might be able to dislodge the fabled stick up his ass.

“You’re right Malik. As the president and vice president of KaibaCorp, we need to be doing whatever we can to make sure Kaiba Land accurately represents the sort of care and attention that goes into all of our products. Isn’t that right, Seto?”

“Don’t bother saying anything if you agree,” Malik said, exchanging a knowing smile with Mokuba. 

Silence.

“There are enough witnesses here to back us up, right?”

“Totally.”

Malik smirked. “Well, you heard the man Mokuba; sounds like all of us need to run a QC on the Blue Eyes Ultimate whatever ride.”

Mokuba stepped forward and tugged on his brother’s arm, almost causing him to drop his coffee. Seto’s eyes finally strayed from the screen. 

“...What’s happening?” he asked, not liking the smug look on Malik’s face.

“You said you’d ride _Blue Eyes Ultimate Adventure_ with us,” Mokuba said, knowing he’d be much harder for Seto to refuse than Malik.

“No I didn’t.”

“Exactly!”

Seto had no idea what Mokuba was going on about, but he was sure it was Malik’s fault.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Malik asked innocently, catching the attention of some of Seto’s admirers. Apparently even the staunchest Kaiba fans weren’t immune to the Egyptian’s natural charms. 

“I’ve driven a jet, Ishtar.”

“That’s technically not a ‘no’.”

“Fine. _No,_ I’m not scared of a simulation ride.”

“So come with us,” Malik said, already walking ahead. He stopped near a trash can modelled after the Black Magician’s hat, waiting for Mokuba to drag his brother along. “Seriously Kaiba, we’re at a theme park. _Your_ theme park. Tell whoever keeps calling you to shove it.”

“I’m not telling one of our main investors to shove anything.”

“Then stop answering. They’re all rich, right? I’m sure they can afford to wait until tomorrow morning. Would it kill you to have a little fun?”

“We’re not here to have _fun,_ ” Seto argued, jerking his sleeve out of Mokuba’s grasp. “I brought you here so you would understand the standards that I expect you to meet. I want you to come up with something we don’t already have; something you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “If you were paying _any_ attention, you would’ve seen me taking notes and snapping photos from the moment we came in. I’m taking this as seriously as I can.”

“Which isn’t saying much.”

“You know, it’s hard for an insult like that to have any bite when you were practically begging me to help you not one month ago.”

“I don’t beg.”

“You don’t unclench either.”

Mokuba winced. While Malik had gotten away with a lot so far, he doubted his brother would take that lying down. Seto was processing what Malik had said, stunned that anyone, much less an employee, would speak to him that way.

And in _public._

Seto’s eyes narrowed as he approached, making full use of his height. Malik glared back, unfazed, knowing Seto valued his image far too much to risk causing a scene in the middle of a crowded theme park. At worst, he’d be fired, but Seto seemed dead set on keeping him there for whatever reason.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asked, keeping his voice low. To anyone else, his tone would have come across as threatening; Malik was unimpressed. 

“ _I’m_ being difficult? You’re the one gnashing your teeth over having to spend time with your little brother.”

“Don’t try turning this into something it’s not, Ishtar.” 

Malik gripped his bag’s strap in frustration. “I’m asking you to get on a five-minute ride with us and you’re acting like I’ve forced you to donate your only kidney.”

“Why do you want me to ride with you?” Seto asked, pausing between each word as if to emphasise how ridiculous his request was. “How will me being on the ride help you come up with a concept for our new attraction?”

“Let me reframe this. ‘I think your vice president wants to run a quality check with you.’”

Seto paused and looked over his shoulder. Mokuba smiled back at him nervously, offering a timid wave. Although it was true that he planned to use the trip as an excuse to spend quality time with Seto, he didn’t think Malik’s passive aggressive approach was the greatest way to go about it. Then again, he couldn’t deny that it gave him the opening he needed to appeal to his brother’s seldom seen soft side. 

“I thought we could maybe check out a couple of the rides while we’re here,” he said, trying to gauge how much he’d be able to get away with. “You know, to make sure everything’s working okay. We haven’t had time to check on this place since the new Duel Disk campaigns, so...”

He trailed off, hoping he’d provided enough of a case.

Malik glanced between them and turned to leave, doubting that Seto would want to say anything too personal with him standing there. Couldn’t have anyone finding out he had human emotions after all. 

“The ride’s in the building with the three Blue Eyes, yeah? I’ll meet you guys there,” he said, wandering along a row of gift shops without waiting for an answer. Malik didn’t know much about their relationship, but as a fellow spoiled little brother he figured he’d do Mokuba a favour by giving them some time without the prying eyes of a third party. 

Since they were currently in the more kid-friendly section of the park, the monster selection and architecture was designed to be painfully cute. Kuriboh and Watapon dominated the merchandise, though Toon versions of the Black Magician and (of course) Blue Eyes White Dragon were also readily available.

Malik nibbled on the end of his phone’s stylus after scribbling down more notes, wondering if he’d also be expected to provide possible merchandising opportunities for the new area. It was going to be a challenge without the three gods to draw from, however Malik was confident he’d be able to come up with something that would blow everyone away. Marketing definitely fell outside of his tiny circle of expertise, but he was willing to try, if only to prove that he could be more than a living Egyptology textbook.

He continued down the line of stores, peering inside to see how they differed from each other. One had toys, another had specialty sweets, and yet another offered clothing that no one in their right mind would wear outside of their house. 

A colourful mass of fluff caught his eye near the final shop, which was packed to the brim with stuffed animals. A large wire bin of Scapegoat plushies sat near the entrance, their sleepy faces squished against the sides.

Malik picked out an orange goat (or were they sheep?) from the top, giving it a light squeeze. A gentle ‘bweh’ sounded from inside its stuffing. It was about the size of a volleyball and ridiculously soft; if it were a bit larger, it would’ve made for a nice pillow. 

“Huh. I know someone that’d love you,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone.

* * *

Given the Kaiba Corporation’s general lack of creativity when it came to designing their buildings, Malik had no idea why he’d expected Death-T to look like anything other than a silver tower with random geometric shapes welded on top. He supposed since its name was marginally more interesting than ‘Alcatraz’ or ‘KaibaCorp HQ’, they would have gone for a more fantastical, intimidating vibe, like a Gothic castle or an abandoned mansion wrapped in vines. 

Nope.

It was a silver tower with random geometric shapes welded on top.

At least there wasn’t a Blue Eyes anywhere in sight. 

“I get the feeling you’re underwhelmed,” Seto said, a twinge of amusement in his voice. He’d loosened up considerably after agreeing to accompany them on a few rides. Malik even heard him laugh for the first time, which was frankly more terrifying than the final drop on the _Burst Stream_ log flume.

Malik shrugged. “It doesn’t really scream...deadly.”

“What exactly were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. More skulls?”

“How trite.”

“Well what says ‘death’ better than bones?” he asked, stepping further back to get a better view of the area.

The plaza surrounding Death-T lacked the cheery music playing throughout the rest of the park, its grounds unkempt and overrun with weeds. Malik was surprised Seto would allow something so unsightly to remain untouched for as long as he had. Then again, it wouldn’t matter in the long run; Malik was planning to have most of the vegetation removed during the remodel anyway.

“I know it’s super boring from the outside, but the challenge arenas were cool,” Mokuba said, sorting through a number of patterned key cards. “They utilised the latest technology we could get our hands on at the time, and that stuff didn’t come cheap. Kinda sucks that we couldn’t get it to work out in the end.”

“It’s because everyone mistook it for an office building.”

“In the middle of a theme park?”

“Why not? Maybe they thought you guys built one in case someone needed to use a copy machine.”

“...Again, in the middle of a theme park?”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Your brother’s been conducting business calls all day; you have no room to talk about the separation of work and play.”

Seto’s phone rang at that exact moment and, as expected, he didn’t waste a second before answering it, effectively proving Malik’s point. Even Mokuba looked put out, and he was used to being side-lined for ‘important business matters’ more than anyone else.

Malik frowned, resting a hand on his hip. “Seriously? And here I was thinking we were making progress.” 

“I need to take this; it’s from Isono.”

“Who?”

“My tournament official. You’ve seen him before; he judged the Battle City finals.”

Malik continued to stare at him blankly. 

“He was off to the side, in sunglasses.”

“At _night?_ ”

“It was night, yes.”

“Why the hell does everyone assume I have a photographic memory of that tournament?” Malik asked, running a hand through his hair.

He joined Mokuba near the entrance of the tower, resting his back against the metal door as they waited for Seto to finish his call. They watched quietly as he paced back and forth, his volume increasing as the conversation wore on. Apparently, someone at the tournament had been caught cheating and was now refusing to leave the arena. Malik highly doubted Jounouchi had anything to do with what was happening, but sent him a quick text, just in case. 

> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ** **[16:36]** _how’s it going over there? kaiba’s pissier than usual_
> 
> **Jounouchi Katsuya** **  
> ** **[16:38]** _some chucklefuck got disqualified for using a restricted card and won’t get off the damn stage. dude’s huge af, otherwise i would've carried him off myself_

Malik snorted.

> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ** **[16:39]** _suuuuure :o)_
> 
> **Jounouchi Katsuya** **  
> ** **[16:39]** _hey! these babies helped me survive the streets back in middle school_
> 
> **Jounouchi Katsuya** **  
> ** **[16:40]** _imagine me flexing while you read that btw_
> 
> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ** **[16:41]** _gross._

“What’re you smiling at?”

A rush of heat flooded Malik’s cheeks as he quickly looked up, finding Mokuba trying to steal a peek at his screen. 

> **Malik Ishtar** **  
> ** **[16:41]** _gotta go, good luck_

“Nothing important,” he said, tapping out of his messages before slipping the phone back into his bag. “Is your brother still on that call? I thought we were going inside to see if anything could be salvaged.”

Mokuba glanced over his shoulder. Seto wasn’t trying to hide his frustration anymore, and poor Isono was forced to take the brunt of his verbal beatdown.

“I think it’s gonna be a while. You and I can go in without him though; I’ve got all the keys we’ll need for the first two levels.”

“How many are there?” Malik asked, craning his neck upwards to count the number of floors.

“Five, but we’re planning to tear down the upper three. Seto and Daimon found out that if we do the demolition work overnight, we won’t need to close down the rest of the park.”

“So whatever I come up with won’t need to be a tower?”

Mokuba grinned. “Nope. Kinda frees up your options, huh?” 

“You have no idea,” Malik said, breathing a sigh of relief. “As soon as I saw how big and ugly it was, the only thing that came to mind was a tekhenu drop elevator.”

“A what?”

“I mean, technically you’d need two of them, plus another show building in the back to serve as the temple. Then again, it wouldn’t _need_ to be another ride; I guess it could be an oversized gift shop or something. Actually, does Kaiba care about historical accuracy or does he just want it to look cool? Because if it’s the latter, then we can keep it to one. ...It’d be weird though. Like, I’d see it and go, ‘nooo it’s all wrong’ and—”

Mokuba nodded slowly, not following a single thing Malik was saying. It was the first time he’d heard him speak for so long without any cynicism, so he must have been really excited about whatever it was he was talking about.

“You’ve got another month before you have to present everything to our investors, so you’ll have enough time to run any questions by Seto,” he said as soon as Malik paused to catch his breath. “He’s told you about all that, right?”

“He mentioned it the other day, yeah.”

“Are you nervous?”

Malik scoffed. “Why would I be? Convincing other people to do stuff for me is my specialty.”

“And the truth comes out,” Mokuba said, chuckling as he unlocked Death-T’s entrance with a swipe of his card.

The doors groaned and slid open in a halting, jerky motion, releasing a plume of long-settled dust into the air. Malik quickly pulled his shirt’s collar over his mouth and nose, but Mokuba was met with a mouthful of five-year-old grime. He stumbled backwards, coughing and sputtering as Malik fought to hold back his laughter. 

“Was that part of the ride?” he asked, waving away the remaining bits of floating dirt. “Because if it was, I can see why this failed.”

“Very funny,” Mokuba said weakly, still trying to clear his throat. “We should’ve brought some masks with us.”

“Wouldn’t hurt. This place probably needs to air out for a few hours anyway,” Malik said, stepping around Mokuba to peer into Death-T’s holding room. 

His blood ran cold upon realising that the tower’s interior remained pitch black despite the presence of a key card, the natural light filtering in from outside doing little to help. He briefly considered sticking his arm inside to see if the lights were motion activated, but the thought of something dragging him into that murky mess was enough to stamp out that idea. 

“Are we supposed to walk around in the dark?” Malik asked, doing his best to keep the nervousness from his voice. “Seems kind of pointless to see if anything’s still working when there isn’t any power.”

“The electricity would’ve been shut off once it closed down,” Mokuba said, cautiously stepping inside. He waved his arms around, unknowingly testing Malik’s theory about the lights being triggered by movement

Nothing happened. 

“So how were you able to open the main doors?”

“Those are on a separate system. Daimon said it’d be better for security.”

Mokuba pulled out his phone, using its light to locate the room’s control panel. He flipped every switch and pressed every button, hoping one of them would activate the tower’s emergency lights. Malik stayed outside, wondering whether using his phone as a torch would be enough to keep him grounded if either Kaiba brother insisted on continuing into the building. He concluded from Mokuba’s frustrated grunt that the lights weren’t coming on any time soon.

“No luck?”

“They’re dead,” he sighed, dusting off his knees. “I don’t think we can go in today.”

“Well that’s disappointing,” Malik said, mentally thanking every god that came to mind, Egyptian or not. “I was looking forward to my personal tour.”

“Seto probably won’t come with us a second time.”

“I doubt we’ll notice.”

Mokuba smiled grimly. “Guess you’re getting used to it too, huh?”

Malik shrugged. “My sister’s the same way. Sometimes it feels like I’m competing with a bunch of broken pottery for her attention, but she’s stuck her neck out for me so many times that I’m surprised it’s still attached to her shoulders.” He smirked. “Your brother's an emotionally constipated dick, but I’m sure he’d buy the moon for you if he could afford it."

“You think so?”

“Sure. Unless Isis gets to it first.”

“I haven’t really talked to her myself, but I’ve noticed Seto always replies to her texts right away. At first I thought they had a thing going on — yeah, I know,” he said, seeing the look of absolute terror that crossed Malik’s face, “but apparently she likes to spam his phone until he answers her.”

“Yup, that’s Isis,” Malik said, sounding quite proud.

“Does being bossy run in your family or something?”

“Does hypocrisy run in yours?”

Mokuba let out a sarcastic laugh as he walked back outside, checking his sleeves for any stray cobwebs. He regretted not planning their visit better; touring the remnants of Death-T was meant to be the highlight of their trip and they couldn’t even get past the first room. Malik didn’t seem too bothered, but Mokuba was sure Seto would be in a foul mood for the rest of the night. Whatever was going on at the tournament definitely wasn’t helping. 

He pulled the key card from its slot, bringing the entrance doors together with another creaky moan. Mokuba placed it back into his card case and let out a sigh. “So much for that. I was hoping we’d get to check out _Stardust Shooters_. You would’ve loved it.”

“Really? Nothing about the name sounds particularly exciting,” Malik said, examining his nails for dirt.

“You’d get to shoot Seto.”

“Meh. I can do that anywhere.”

Mokuba was mildly concerned that he couldn’t tell whether Malik was joking. Still, a few rounds of extreme laser tag would’ve been a nice way to relieve any stress they’d built up over the past several hours. Given his brother’s height and Malik’s insistence on being the shiniest person in existence, Mokuba was certain he’d have come out on top.

Honestly, there were a lot of areas in Death-T he’d be sorry to lose. They were pretty fun, their original intent as literal death traps aside.

Mokuba brightened, turning back to Malik with renewed excitement. “Hey, you know what’d be cool?”

“Spending the rest of the day eating our respective weights in popcorn?” Malik said without looking up; at some point he’d gone back to smiling at his phone. 

“If the new attraction had a maze!”

That seemed to grab his attention. “Like a hedge maze? In _Egypt?_ ”

“So, picture this,” Mokuba said, forming a loose frame with his hands. Malik decided to humour him and pocketed his phone, stooping down a bit to match Mokuba’s height. “What if instead of a traditional queue, you started off in an underground maze, kinda like a tomb?”

Oh.

Malik did not like where this was going.

“That way the ‘ride’ starts before you even get into the loading area! There’d be a couple of fake traps and dead ends, but you’d eventually reach the ride itself after decoding hidden clues written on the walls. Oh!” Mokuba’s eyes gleamed as another brilliant idea popped into his head. “We could even hire actors to act as guards! Then people would have to sneak around and avoid being caught. Like, they wouldn’t _actually_ be captured or anything,” he snorted, “but they’d be chased around and get even more lost. I don’t know if—”

‘Gods, shut _up,_ ’ Malik silently pleaded, a steady pressure mounting at the base of his skull.

Mokuba’s misplaced enthusiasm faded into a muffled buzzing sound, punctured by the frantic beating of Malik’s heart. He knew he shouldn’t be upset; it wasn’t Mokuba’s fault, he and Seto hadn’t been there when Isis told everyone the story of how their father was—

He was—

Malik crossed his arms as he continued to pretend any of Mokuba’s words were getting through to him, the gold bands decorating his forearms keeping his fingers from digging into his flesh.

He was starting to feel dizzy.

“—torches, if we could figure out a way to do it without setting the whole park on fire—” 

“Mokuba,” Malik said, voice pitching oddly despite its friendly tone. His hands were clasped behind his back, visibly shaking as he struggled to keep himself from pressing them against Mokuba’s mouth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to steal my job.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I was only—”

“No offense, but there’s a reason you weren’t assigned to this task. Not to say your ideas are complete shit; they’re just cliché. Expected. Boring. _Musty,_ ” he continued, circling Mokuba like a cat that had come across a particularly juicy bird. “Who in their right mind would want to be trapped underground with a bunch of smelly strangers? They’d all be running around like little rats, bumping into each other in the dark. Not to mention how noisy it’d be; everything would echo. Voices, footsteps, breathing — it’d be horrific.”

Though his descriptions were unappealing, Mokuba thought Malik sounded somewhat elated. The sun’s changing position had caused Death-T’s shadow to shift, casting its entrance plaza in shade. In the muted light, Malik’s lilac eyes reflected a noticeably darker hue.

“But, if you still wanted to give it a go, we know the perfect spot to do some research.”

“You’ve actually seen a _real_ underground tomb?” Mokuba asked, eyes wide. “Were you allowed to go inside?”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” Malik said, words dripping like poisoned honey off his tongue. Mokuba felt a cold chill run up his spine; he couldn’t place his finger on it, but something felt...off. “Wouldn’t recommend it, personally, but it does leave a lasting impression on you, for better or worse.” His lip twitched. “Mostly worse.”

Before Mokuba could ask him to elaborate, something very sparkly and very blue was thrust between them. Malik’s demeanour changed almost as abruptly.

“Wha— Where did you come from?”

“Want it?” Seto asked, holding a second in his other hand. 

Malik raised an eyebrow, noting his thin lips were coloured the same shade of blue. He regarded the strange object curiously. “Is this edible?” 

“It’s food. I got hungry and this churro cart was the only thing within a reasonable distance.”

“Yelling at idiots can be surprisingly strenuous,” Malik said with a sympathetic nod. “Why is it blue?”

“Three guesses.”

“I hate that I only need one.”

“Do you want it or not?” Seto asked again. Bits of coloured sugar sprinkled onto the ground.

Malik was hesitant to sample anything with such an unnatural colour, but he hadn’t eaten anything since leaving the apartment that morning. He reluctantly accepted the churro and split it in two, offering the other half to Mokuba. The younger Kaiba took it warily, sniffing it before taking a small bite. He shrugged, glancing back at Malik and giving him a thumbs up, his lips already starting to stain. 

“Thanks,” he said, dusting off as much sugar as he could. It wasn’t too sweet, which he appreciated, the cinnamon adding a pleasant warmth to the fried dough. “I don’t know if you overheard, but Mokuba and I are going to need to come back another day.”

“The power’s out,” Mokuba explained. “We can’t check if anything’s running without it.”

Seto took in a deep breath through his nose, as well as another bite of his churro. “Figures. I’ll have Daimon deal with it later — we can try again next Tuesday.”

“‘We?’” Malik repeated. “You’re coming with us again?”

“Someone needs to make sure you two aren’t playing _Stardust Shooters_ all day,” he said, looking pointedly at his younger brother. There were also a few things Seto intended to keep under wraps; Malik asked a lot of questions, and he wasn’t confident Mokuba would be able to keep his mouth shut if push came to shove. “There won’t be a tournament that day, so I should be more...available.”

Malik clicked his tongue. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I expect you to.”

“So what happened to the cheater?” Mokuba asked. “Did Isono have to call security?”

“The mutt dealt with it.”

“‘Mutt?’” 

Mokuba snickered. “He means Jounouchi Katsuya.”

“He knocked him out,” Seto said nonchalantly, crumpling up the churro’s wrapper. “With a chair.”

Malik’s mouth fell open. “Was he disqualified?”

“The cheater? Of course.”

“Jounouchi,” Malik clarified. 

Seto shrugged. “If he didn’t want to get hit with a folding chair, he should’ve moved the first fifty times we asked him to.”

* * *

Jounouchi was on cloud nine.

Or ten.

Possibly even eleven.

Although the tournament had been delayed by almost an hour, he’d managed a clean sweep against all five of his opponents, earning not only a crisp check for 100,000 yen, but also the latest version of KaibaCorp’s Duel Disk — a sleek, lightweight model that had yet to be released to the general public.

He climbed up the stairs to his apartment with a noticeable spring in his step, a plastic bag containing his celebratory dinner swinging freely around his wrist. Jounouchi whistled an upbeat tune as he unlocked the door, jumping over the threshold and landing in a painfully dramatic pose.

“Ishtar!” he called out at the top of his lungs, oblivious to the fact that most of his neighbours were getting ready for bed. “Get your ass out here and bow down to Domino’s newest champion!”

Jounouchi opened his eyes to find Malik standing at the end of the hallway, looking extremely tired. He was holding his laptop out in front of him, his sister’s beautiful, but bewildered face taking up most of the screen. He’d been in the middle of giving her a tour of their apartment, only to be interrupted by Jounouchi’s over-the-top entrance.

“ _And here’s the idiot himself,_ ” Malik said to her in Arabic, raising his laptop to eye level. “ _Say ‘hi’ sis._ ”

Isis waved, offering Jounouchi a kind smile as she gently chided her younger brother. “ _Malik, don’t be rude._ ”

“ _It’s not like he understands anyway. Watch. Hey,_ Jounouchi! _Your room smells like spoilt milk and sweaty socks._ ”

Jounouchi recognised his name and nothing else but could only assume from Malik’s playful tone that whatever he’d said was some kind of joke. “Uh...good one?”

“ _See?_ ”

Isis sighed. “That’s enough Malik,” she said, switching to Japanese. “Good evening, Jounouchi; I trust you’re well?”

“Just got back from completely trouncing everyone at a local tournament,” Jounouchi said smugly, holding up his prize to the webcam. “So yeah, I’d say I’m doing great!”

She nodded, an echo of Malik’s trademark smirk playing on her lips. “I see you’re as humble as ever. Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks!”

“And thank you again for opening your home to my brother; Rishid and I greatly appreciate it. I hope he hasn’t been giving you a hard time.”

“Nah, he’s fitting right in,” Jounouchi said reassuringly, ignoring the glare Malik was sending him from behind his laptop. “Don’t sweat it; I’ll let you know first thing if any trouble crops up.”

“Do you have my mobile number? Malik, give him my number.”

“This is seriously the weirdest way to ask someone out, sis.”

“Malik.”

“Hang up first; I’m kind of held up at the moment. Well, _you_ are,” he reminded her, rocking the screen side to side.

“Oh, of course,” she said sheepishly. “My apologies — I’ll let you go now. It was nice seeing you, Jounouchi.”

He sent her off with a small salute. “Same to you!”

“ _Hey, don’t forget to send over those books,_ ” Malik said, peeking in from the side. “ _My presentation’s in a month._ ”

“ _I’ll ship them first thing tomorrow. Are you sure those are the only titles you’ll need?_ ”

“ _Feel free to add anything else you think would help. ...Uh, try not to exceed 20 kilos though._ ”

Isis laughed. “ _No promises. Goodnight little brother; stay safe. I love you._ ”

Malik blushed as he ended the call, closing his laptop with a huff. He turned his attention to Jounouchi, who had started setting out an assortment of rice bowls on the kotatsu. His new Duel Disk (now with improved scent!), rested against their television stand, its seal still intact. Malik pictured Jounouchi carrying the cumbersome device around town as he went to pick up dinner, granting anyone unlucky enough to ask about it an embellished retelling of his duels.

It was a miracle no one tried to mug him.

“I didn’t know Tenya was open this late,” Malik said, stealing a bite of fried eggplant. It was nothing fancy, but he found it more appetising than the bright blue churro Seto had gotten him. 

“Course it is. All the salarymen are just getting off work around this time.”

“But it’s almost ten.”

“I know.” Jounouchi grimly slid Malik a Styrofoam cup of miso soup. “As you can see, I’ve got a lot to look forward to after I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually studying to become an _accountant,_ ” Malik said, carefully peeling off the plastic lid. “It’s so...practical. Whatever happened to being a world famous duelist or whatever? Is this just a backup plan? Are you going to wear a suit?” His eyes lit up. “I want to see you in a suit!”

“Can we not talk about this right now? You’re ruining my appetite.”

“Would you rather we talk about you bashing someone’s face in with a folding chair?”

Jounouchi nearly choked on a shrimp. “Who told you _that?_ ”

“Kaiba. He sounded pretty impressed.”

“...Did he?” Jounouchi asked, puffing out his chest a bit. Malik smiled into his soup. “I mean, I didn’t have fun doing it or anything, but even security couldn’t get the guy to move, so I just—”

He mimed picking up a chair and swinging it upwards, the imaginary impact accompanied by a soft popping sound. 

“You knocked his head off?” Malik asked incredulously.

“What? No! I just bopped him a little."

“Enough to leave him unconscious.”

“Not my fault he’s got a soft skull.”

“So you admit to giving him brain damage as well?”

Jounouchi thought about the accusation and shrugged. “I’m not ruling out the possibility.” 

Malik downed the rest of the warm soup in one gulp, shaking a few stray pieces of soft tofu into his mouth before getting up.

“Hey, you wanna try eating something a little more solid?” Jounouchi said, leaning to the side as he watched him walk away. “I had to wait an extra five minutes while they made a new batch of veggie tempura!”

“I’m not done, I just need to get something!” Malik yelled back.

Jounouchi dunked a cube of unidentifiable meat into the dipping sauce. “Who leaves in the middle of dinner?” 

Malik reappeared a few minutes later carrying the orange Scapegoat plush he’d gotten from Kaiba Land, setting it on Jounouchi’s head before returning to his food. The round sheep (goat?) rolled off and fell into his lap with a slight bounce.

“Cute! Did you pick up this little guy on your ‘business trip’?”

“They were on sale for dirt cheap and looked stupid,” Malik said simply, piling his rice into a bite-sized mound. “This one reminded me of you.”

Jounouchi grinned. “So you were thinking about me.”

“You shouldn’t bring up such unpleasant topics while people are eating.”

A shadow fell over their meal, causing Malik to glance up. Jounouchi was leaning forward, arms spread wide as he waited for a hug. Malik made no move to grant him one.

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Right here.”

“Stop being weird.”

“Just a little one.”

“I will _bite_ you.”

“Kinky.”

Malik sputtered indignantly and swatted Jounouchi’s nose with the end of his chopsticks before grabbing his bowl and stomping into the hallway.

“I’m eating in my room,” he said without looking back. 

Jounouchi followed him, still rubbing his nose. “I was kidding—”

“You need new material.”

“I just wanted to thank you for the sheep!”

“It’s a goat.”

“Mal, seriously.”

Malik paused and abruptly turned to face him. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh— ‘Mal’?” Jounouchi said slowly, now wondering himself what prompted the change. “D’you prefer ‘Ishtar’?”

“No. I hate it.”

Jounouchi blinked, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “Oh.” 

“Keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Using my actual name.”

Jounouchi nodded wordlessly, clueless as to whether Malik was still annoyed with him.

They continued to stare at each other in an awkward silence, neither quite knowing what to make of the situation. Malik was still holding his food, painfully aware that it was only getting colder as they continued to stand there, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“...This is ridiculous,” he said, brushing past Jounouchi as he headed into the kitchen. Why was he acting so flustered? It was just Jounouchi for fuck’s sake. 

“Are you throwing all that away?” Jounouchi asked.

Malik tossed his bowl into the microwave. “I’m warming it up. Also, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” 

“The goat.”

“...Pretty sure it’s a sheep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The card is Scapegoat, but it summons Sheep Tokens...confusing.
> 
> Also! Kaiba Land is originally shown as an indoor amusement park, however I took some liberties and based it on a combination of the bunkoban map and the outdoor version shown in one of the anime's filler arcs (which I _think_ was said to be the American park). 
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone reading! I hope you're all enjoying it so far ; w ; ) I hope everyone's staying safe and healthy out there. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for possible triggers.

Malik went over his notes again, clicking through his presentation to catch any typos hidden within its slides. He recited the talking points under his breath, making sure each one flowed seamlessly into the next. His last-minute preparations were being conducted in a ‘hidden’ break room attached to the company’s largest conference space, its single window shuttered to keep all distractions at a minimum. 

Since his first visit to Kaiba Land, Malik had spent a number of sleepless nights working on the project, often alongside Jounouchi as he tackled his own research for school. Malik had never been much of a coffee drinker, but his caffeine consumption definitely shot up after moving to Japan. The shorter days and longer nights weren’t helping any — once the sun went down, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and read.

Which he did, actually. 

Though he’d been longing to escape the stuffy atmosphere of his sister’s museum, Malik couldn’t deny that her access to any and all academic texts regarding ancient Egypt was invaluable. She sent him a hefty amount of reading material at his request and his tiny bedroom quickly became cluttered with stacks of the same musty books he’d tried to get away from.

A faint click drew Malik’s attention from his mind-numbing review to the only door into and out of the room. Seto stepped inside, dressed in a crisp, dark grey suit accented with a patterned tie. He gave Malik a curt nod, which the blond hesitantly returned.

Seto had stressed the importance of this presentation for weeks. They’d gone to Kaiba Land twice since their initial visit and he’d kept true to his word about being ‘present’ during their trips. Daimon had also started accompanying them, much to Malik’s displeasure. Luckily, the rotund little man dealt exclusively with the practical aspects of the project, however his presence still made Malik uncomfortable. He’d never met anyone that fit the term ‘dirty old man’ so perfectly. 

“Do you need me to check your kanji?” Seto asked, walking over to the cramped desk. 

“Might as well,” Malik said, handing him his laptop. “Has anyone shown up yet?”

“A handful of representatives from smaller corporations; no one too important.”

“Maybe they showed up early for the hors d'oeuvres.”

“That’s to be expected; our catering is top notch,” Seto said, scanning each page. He let out a soft ‘tsk’ whenever an error caught his eye, swiftly correcting it with a few choice keystrokes. 

Malik’s ego took a hit every time Seto found a mistake. While he was more or less fluent when it came to speaking Japanese, figuring out how to read and write kanji proved to be another beast entirely. Whoever decided the language needed three separate writing systems needed to be kicked in the shin. 

“You’re getting better,” Seto said, sensing Malik’s frustration. “I can ask Mokuba to loan you some of his textbooks if you want to brush up on the basics.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or trying to help.”

“A bit of both.”

Malik snorted. “Sure, why not?”

He stifled a yawn and slumped back into the chair, closing his eyes for a very brief power nap as Seto continued to scroll through his slides. Keeping the project a secret added a level of difficulty Malik hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t have anyone to discuss his ideas with outside of work, and while Mokuba’s enthusiasm was contagious, neither he nor Seto were particularly helpful when it came to re-interpreting aspects of ancient life into something meant for entertainment. Any suggestions they put forward either involved lasers or dragons.

Sometimes both. 

“Done,” Seto said, tapping back to the start of Malik’s presentation. “Everything should be good to go.”

Malik forced his eyes open and sat up, taking back his laptop. The urge to go over his slides again was strong, but surely if Seto thought they were good, then they were good, right? In fact, they were probably even better than good. Great, even. 

“...I should—”

Seto snapped the laptop shut before Malik could do anything more than waggle his cursor. “Stop. Go take a walk, you’re like a wooden plank.”

Malik glanced down at his chest.

Seto rolled his eyes. “I meant you’re too stiff. Relax.”

“I hope you know you’re asking the world of me right now,” Malik said, resting his cheek against his palm. “Besides, I’m not about to waltz around the office dressed like this.”

“Why not? You look lovely.”

The noise that came from Malik’s throat was nearly inhuman.

“It was very kind of Isis to loan you her dress.”

Malik never felt so relieved. “Gods, you had me scared for a second.”

Seto encouraged him to present in full tomb keeper regalia, insisting it would add a layer of authenticity that might influence someone’s decision. While Malik had no objections to the idea, he was worried that donning the distinct robes might allow someone to draw the connection between himself and the long-disbanded Ghouls. Given that none of his regular investors played Duel Monsters, Seto highly doubted that anyone at the meeting would even remember the criminal organisation’s existence, but he wasn’t the greatest at reassuring people, much less a living ball of stress.

Malik had changed as soon as he arrived that morning, telling everyone within shouting distance not to bother him for the better part of twenty minutes. The robes themselves were easy enough to slip into, however the accompanying jewellery was a pain to put on without any help, especially the bands encircling his waist. He found himself rolling on the floor more times than he’d care to admit.

When he was finally able to place the finishing piece, a golden forehead band featuring the Eye of Horus, his confidence surged. Malik wasn’t convinced that dressing up could really sway anyone one way or another, but at least he’d look damn good while making his case. 

“Can I peek outside?” he asked, standing up to stretch. “I bet there’s a ton of people now.”

Seto rolled his shoulders back. “If you don’t think you’ll get spooked.”

“ _Please,_ what do you take me for?” Malik said with a huff, his robes billowing behind him as he strode towards the door. “You’re not the only one in this room who knows how to command respect you know. The Rod would’ve been useless without my overwhelming charm and charis…ma…”

He’d only opened the door a sliver of the way, but that was all he needed to spot Yuugi seated in the front row. Malik quickly slammed the door closed, any semblance of composure now shattered. Seto was amused at how suddenly his mood shifted.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Malik asked in a harsh whisper. 

“Who?”

“Yuugi!”

Seto’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, which did nothing to ease Malik’s building panic. He motioned for him to step out of the way and peered into the room himself, eyes widening at the sight of his long-time rival. 

Well, rival adjacent.

While he was aware of Yuugi’s growing influence in the gaming world, he seemed out of place compared to the rest of the room. His youth aside, he was humbly dressed and only brought a pad of paper to take notes with, a black pen nestled loosely behind his ear. Seto overheard someone joking about how he’d gotten lost during a school trip, however the reigning King of Games kept his eyes forward, patiently waiting for the presentation to begin.

Seto closed the door, resting his back against the wood as he watched Malik attempting to calm himself down.

“Breathe, Ishtar,” he said with all the tact he could muster, which unfortunately didn’t amount to much.

“I _am_ breathing!” Malik snapped; and he was, albeit unevenly. “Why is he here? Yuugi doesn’t have any money to invest!”

“You’d be surprised,” Seto shrugged. “A lot of our old partners have shown interest in his concepts and _Spherium II_ was a major hit in western Europe last year. He’s managed to make a name for himself even faster than I thought he would.”

Malik continued to pace, mumbling in a language Seto couldn’t understand. His attention drifted to the small diorama Malik spent the morning setting up, impressed that he’d managed to commission something so detailed in a relatively short amount of time. He hoped it hadn’t involved breaking the terms of their non-disclosure agreement, but Seto was willing to overlook any rule bending if it got him the results he wanted.

Finally, Malik stopped, running his hands over his bracelets. “I don’t know if I can do this—”

“Why?”

“He freaks me out!”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know, he just does!”

Seto’s eyes narrowed. “You can take him.”

“What?”

“In a fight. You can pick him up and set him on top of a shelf. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. It’d be hilarious.”

“Are you drunk?” Malik asked, dumbfounded. 

“No, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamt about doing that myself a few times.”

Despite his nerves, Malik laughed. 

Seto moved towards the model and picked up one of the clay figures, rolling it between his long fingers.

“Who made this?”

“A friend,” Malik said, still quite tense. “He sculpts stuff like this in his spare time. I told him as many details as I could without giving away too much. He thinks it’s a gift for my sister.”

“He’s very talented,” Seto said, carefully setting the figure back into place. “It would be a shame to waste his efforts.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m not!”

“These people don’t like to be kept waiting, Ishtar. You of all people should know this,” Seto said coldly. Malik glared back, but remained silent. “You have ten minutes to get your head on straight. Any longer and you risk presenting to a group of people who have already made up their minds. Understand?”

Malik gave him a vague grunt of affirmation, threading his fingers through his hair while avoiding Seto’s icy gaze.

“I’ll bring your things outside,” he said, walking away. “Join us when you’re ready.”

Seto was met with a din of jumbled greetings upon entering the main room. He was already anticipating the dull pain in his lower back from bowing so many times, but it was a necessary inconvenience to keep up appearances. While he was sure Malik would pull himself together in time, it couldn’t hurt to warm up the crowd. There was nothing rich people loved more than hearing themselves speak, which made it easy to feign interest in someone’s new yacht or champion thoroughbred. All they needed was a warm body with open eyes to be satisfied.

Unfortunately, Yuugi actually wanted to talk to him.

“Morning Kaiba!" he beamed, cheerful as ever.

"And here I was thinking you'd be too busy with _Spherium II_ to bother with another collaboration," Seto said, crossing his arms. "Unless the game's already run its course?"

"No way, we're still going strong! My team's gotten a lot bigger since the initial launch, so I've got time to search for other opportunities. Besides, I knew I couldn't pass up working on a new attraction for Kaiba Land." Yuugi’s grin was painfully similar to Atem's. “You’re finally ready to let go of Death-T, huh?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s the last remnant of my past failures. Tearing it down has been a long time coming.”

“But it looks like you’re replacing it with something else that’ll remind you of him,” Yuugi said, noting the diorama. "It was smart of you to bring Malik on board; Isis would've been too...particular."

"It's alright, he’s not here; you can call her 'anal'."

"It feels wrong saying that about a girl."

“You’re lucky the mutt’s not here either,” Seto said, taking his seat. He was tempted to sit directly in front of Yuugi so Malik wouldn’t see him, but even he felt that purposefully blocking a short person’s view was cruel.

The room settled as the starting time drew closer. Seto glanced at the clock, debating whether he should check to make sure Malik hadn’t somehow fainted in the back room. His aversion to Yuugi was curious, considering they’d parted on friendly terms when Malik returned to Egypt. Then again, Seto supposed that wasn’t the best point of reference; everything leading up to their final duel had been chaos, to put it lightly.

Seconds before the upcoming hour, the door swung open, abruptly silencing any lingering discussion. All eyes were on Malik as he walked into the conference hall and took his spot near the front of the room. Although the overhead lights had been dimmed, his jewellery glinted in the low light, the plainness of his dark robes highlighting their intricacy. 

While Seto wouldn’t hesitate to call him a complete mess behind the scenes, he had to admit Malik was extraordinarily skilled at presenting himself. If he hadn’t experienced the blonde’s fretting and whinging just minutes before, he would’ve scoffed at the notion that Malik was anything other than level-headed. 

“You know, I don’t feel so stupid for believing his Namu act anymore,” Yuugi whispered. “He’s super good at the whole ‘public face’ thing.”

“No, you should still feel stupid about that,” Seto said, eloquent as ever. “Even I could see past that paper thin persona.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Yuugi asked incredulously.

“Because he had a God card. Duh.” 

“Salām 'alaykum,” Malik said, drawing the interest of everyone in the room, Seto and Yuugi included; it was a rare treat to hear him speak in his native tongue. “I want to thank all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend this presentation today. I’d also like to personally thank the Kaiba Corporation for inviting me to participate in this exciting project. I hope my ideas are up to your standards, Mister Kaiba.”

Yuugi’s lips puckered as he tried not to laugh and Seto suddenly found himself very thirsty.

Malik stepped to the side, not wanting to block any part of the large screen behind him. He woke up his laptop with a light tap and turned back to his captive audience with a deceptively sweet smile.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Any misconception that Malik led an international crime using the Millennium Rod alone was swiftly crushed into a fine paste. He hadn’t been exaggerating when boasting about his ability to charm people into doing what he wanted. Every gesture, no matter how minor, had a purpose; every ‘accidental’ stutter and clever turn of phrase had a hidden meaning. Even Seto was listening with rapt interest despite knowing the presentation by heart. 

Malik soaked up the attention like a sponge. He was a natural at the art of manipulation, and Yuugi was forever grateful that Seto had managed to harness such power into something relatively harmless.

At its core, Malik’s proposal was fairly simple: an attraction that allowed guests to experience the journey into the Egyptian afterlife, beginning at the Hall of Truth and ending near a conveniently placed gift shop. 

Its complexity came in the execution. The various judgements of the soul would be achieved through a seemingly innocuous personality quiz that guests would take while waiting in line, with questions presented as 'moving hieroglyphs' (aka, giant touchscreens) on the temple walls. Malik made a point to credit Mokuba for the idea.

During the weighing of the heart, a guest's answers would determine whether they experienced a thrill ride or a relaxing simulation. Those who passed the test would continue towards the Lake of Flowers and end at Field of Reeds, both of which would make full use of KaibaCorp's AR technology. Guests that failed would be sent into the waiting jaws of Ammut and ride an indoor roller coaster as they attempted to defy their fate of non-existence.

Essentially, he was pitching two rides for the (very expensive) price of one.

Malik supported his proposal with multiple sketches he'd drawn himself, pulling the imagery from concepts drilled into his skull as a child. Ryou's amazingly detailed diorama came in handy when illustrating the show building’s set up and how much space they would need for such an ambitious project. He'd also included a few slides detailing the merchandise and food options that would accompany the new attraction. Malik was particularly adamant about having a stall that served koshary.

There would even be robots involved, because Japan loved its robots for some God forsaken reason.

When he finished, Malik opened the floor to questions — Seto thought it best to join him in case anything overly technical was asked.

Yuugi was one of the last audience members to be called.

“The overall idea for this is great,” he said, making sure to open with a compliment, “but do you think guests who answer the test ‘right’ might feel cheated? The failure route sounds a lot more exciting, at least from how you’ve described it.”

Figuring Malik would rather eat a live toad than speak to Yuugi in a room full of people, Seto began to reply in his stead, but was cut off before he could think up a suitable non-answer. 

“Maybe, but people who don’t have any secrets to hide are usually kind of boring, don’t you think?” Malik asked, genuinely puzzled.

Yuugi wasn’t sure if that was a jab at his own goody-two-shoes tendencies or if Malik legitimately believed ‘good people’ wouldn’t appreciate an exciting romp through Ammut’s intestines.

“It’s definitely something we’ll consider once we start refining the concept,” Seto said, taking advantage of Yuugi’s confusion. “However, I think what’s been presented today should be enough to help you decide whether or not you’d be interested in taking part in this endeavour.”

He turned to Malik, who’d been watching the faces of everyone in the hall for any sign of disapproval. Seto tapped his shoulder and nodded towards the back room.

“I’ll take it from here. ...Good job.”

Malik smirked. “Wow, praise from _the_ Kaiba Seto. I’m definitely adding that to my résumé.” 

“You and I both know you don’t have a résumé.”

“Yet.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Ishtar; I have you for another ten months.”

“My, someone’s getting possessive.”

“You can leave now,” Seto said, stabbing a pin into their conversation. 

Malik gave him a quick salute and made his way into the back room, slumping onto the floor in a gold-tinted heap after the door closed behind him. The presentation had been surprisingly fun and also incredibly draining. It was bad enough that he needed to feign enthusiasm for a topic that bored him to tears; expecting him to be personable on top of that was absolute torture. Just how many faces did Seto think he had?

...Okay, so he had more than most people.

But still.  
  


* * *

  
Malik walked alongside Seto with a noticeable bounce in his step as they made their way to the main entrance later that day. Not only had they managed to get the attraction funded beyond their initial goal, they had enough runover to use actual gold in the detailing if they wanted to. Malik was tempted to ask for a pay bump, however Seto made it clear the extra money would go towards other ongoing company projects, including what must have been the billionth update to the Duel Disk that year.

Seto held the door open for him as they exited the building, the late afternoon sky coloured a warm orange. Malik braced himself for the familiar chill that settled as soon as the sun began to set, made worse when leaving the comfortably heated KaibaCorp lobby. At least he’d gotten around to buying a proper coat.

“About time!”

Malik paused, recognising the voice but struggling to place it at their current location. He glanced around and spotted Jounouchi underneath one of the Blue Eyes statues, school bag still slung over his shoulder. Although the small courtyard in front of KaibaCorp was open to the public and a popular spot to meet up, it was still strange seeing him there.

“Why are you here?” Malik asked more bluntly than he’d intended. 

“Nice to see you too sunshine,” Jounouchi said with a snort, giving his roommate an affectionate noogie.

Seto seemed to register who was standing in front of them and promptly took on a comedic look of disgust. He was shocked to learn that they were living together — most of what little Seto knew about Malik involved him bullying Jounouchi in one way or another. 

“Sorry, no solicitors allowed on company premises.”

“And a good-fucking-evening to you, asshole.”

“Ishtar, notice how those lacking in social standing and intelligence resort to coarse language when faced with big, scary words like ‘solicitor’ and ‘premises’.”

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. “I betcha this guy got his head shoved down toilets every day before inheriting his daddy's company.”

“It’s cute that you expect me to believe you have any money to bet with.”

Malik laughed nervously as he adjusted his bag’s strap. He wasn’t sure if either of them was being serious, but there was a palpable tension in the air that he didn’t want any part of. “If you’re waiting for Yuugi, he left about an hour ago.”

“Yeah, I saw him already,” Jounouchi said with a shrug. “Said he couldn’t chat for long ‘cause he had to catch a train to Tokyo.”

Seto scoffed. “That idiot’s going to burn himself out sooner than later.”

“Hey now, not all of us have personal helicopters.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Jounouchi continued, “he mentioned that the presentation you’ve been working on was a huge hit with the old farts.”

“It sounds less impressive when you say it like that,” Malik said, idly twirling a lock of his hair.

“What d’you say we go out for some celebratory drinks? My treat. ...Uh, up to the third round.”

“Why would you bother inviting someone out to drink tap water?” Seto asked, deadpan.

“Rich bitch ain’t part of the ‘we’, obviously.”

Malik had honestly been looking forward to taking a long soak in the tub after such a stressful day, but he was never one to pass up a free drink. There was also something deliciously normal about going out for drinks with a friend on Friday night.

“I’m in. Are we walking?”

“It’s about 20 minutes away on foot, but we could always take a bus if you wanted to experience the magic,” Jounouchi wiggled his fingers for emphasis, “of Japanese public transportation.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

Remembering that he still had his robes and jewellery tucked away in his bag, Malik turned to Seto. “Is it okay if I keep my stuff here over the weekend? Going downtown carrying a bag full of gold sounds like a bad idea.”

“Go ahead; we don’t lock up for another hour,” Seto said.

As he ran back into the office, Jounouchi and Seto silently stood an uncomfortable distance from each other, making an obvious effort to avoid eye contact.

Having no reason to wait for Malik’s return, Seto texted his driver to pick him up, hoping he’d still be able to beat the afternoon rush. Despite living up to his reputation as a workaholic, Friday evenings were a notable exception to the rule; even Mokuba knew not to bother him between the hours of six and whatever time he chose to go to bed. Considering how well the day turned out, especially since he’d been worried about hedging his project’s success on a former crime boss, Seto felt he deserved a night of doing absolutely nothing.

A car that probably cost ten times Jounouchi’s annual rent pulled up between them. The driver hopped out and rudely shooed Jounouchi away as he opened the rear passenger door. Seto got in, pointedly ignoring the other’s protests as they drove away.   
  


* * *

  
A.K.A. Kitsune was a popular izakaya with university students, skewing its menu and drinks towards more international offerings. The interior was dimly lit with an eccentric mix of neon lights and hanging lanterns, casting a reddish glow over the restaurant’s interior. Square autograph boards signed by local celebrities plastered the walls in a dizzying pattern that would be right at home in a modern art exhibition. Jounouchi had pointed out Yuugi and Seto’s signatures while they waited for their table, loudly wondering how much they had to pay KaibaCorp’s golden boy to even consider it. 

“Is yours up here?” Malik asked, scanning the dining area. “Or are you still too small-time?”

Jounouchi cleared his throat and looked away. “They’re still working up the nerve. I’m pretty intimidating, so.”

“Uh huh.”

Eventually, they were led through the throng of noisy patrons and seated at a table for two flanked by bamboo partitions on either side. A thick hunk of polished mahogany served as the tabletop, its rough edges invoking a rustic appearance. Their waiter gave the pair a brief nod before setting out two glasses of ice water. Jounouchi immediately went for the drink menu while Malik browsed through the food, marking a handful of appetisers and grilled skewers to start. 

Jounouchi pointed to something on the entree side. “Get some of those too.”

“Chicken wings?”

“Can’t go to an izakaya without ordering some.”

“You _do_ remember that you offered to pay, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jounouchi said, plucking the pencil from Malik’s grip and marking it himself.

Their order came relatively quickly considering how crowded it was. It turned out both blondes were rather giggly after a few sips of liquid courage; Jounouchi’s face was beginning to show signs of the infamous Asian flush after just one bottle of something called ‘Hoppy’. Malik went for an alcoholic soda called ‘Chu-Hi’, remembering Ryou had mentioned it being his favourite. That almost guaranteed that he was going to leave with a mild toothache, but at least it had a nice buzz to offset the sweetness.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Jounouchi said, scooting closer to the table. “What’s the deal with you and ice?”

Malik stilled and slowly removed his finger from his glass. He’d spent most of the meal playing with a large sphere of ice inside his drink, looking more thrilled than Jounouchi had ever seen him. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“C’mon, it’s an honest question.”

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“Then why are you all, _‘tee hee, it’s a secwet~’_ about it?” 

Malik stabbed his chopsticks into a neatly folded piece of tamagoyaki and shoved it into his mouth. “First of all, I don’t talk like that. Second, it’s embarrassing.”

“My question or your answer?”

“Both. Go drink some more so you’ll forget you asked.”

“I ain’t ordering another one until you tell me,” Jounouchi countered, shaking the empty bottle.

“Then you’ll be leaving this place sober.”

“Should I get you drunk and ask again?”

Malik scoffed. “You think these dinky things are going to get _me_ drunk?”

Jounouchi tapped the bouncing cartoon peach on Malik’s can of chuhai. “You’re pretty damn smug for someone who ordered a fucking highball.” 

“Beer smells like piss.”

“Least it’s the same going out.”

“That’s so gross,” Malik said, though he was struggling not to laugh. He took another sip of his drink and leaned onto his elbows, looking at Jounouchi thoughtfully. “You should come home with me and try some of the harder stuff in Cairo. You and Rishid can compete to see who goes into liver failure first.”

“Tell me about the ice.”

“Gods, _fine._ ” He frowned. “But you have to tell me one of your stupid secrets in return.”

“Hey, I got nothing to hide,” Jounouchi said, raising his hands.

“And! You have to promise not to make fun of me _or_ tell anyone else what I’m about to tell you.”

“You got a document I need to sign too?”

“I might.”

A waitress walked by and dropped off another plate of grilled skewers and a small bowl of sweet pickles. Malik snuck in a taste as Jounouchi set aside their empty dishes and thanked her. He turned back to Malik expectantly, sliding the food away in case he tried using it as a convenient distraction.

“Sooo?”

“Ice is weird.”

Jounouchi paused mid-bite. “What?”

“It’s weird.” Malik repeated. “Like, it’s a solid, but it floats when you put it into what it was before it became frozen? How does that work? And then sometimes it turns into air? Is that allowed? How can one thing also be like, three other things? Water’s already so versatile as it is and it _still_ gets to have all these other special abilities? And people bitch about Ra being overpowered.”

Though he promised not to, Jounouchi failed to hold back a laugh. “Look, I know you didn’t exactly get a traditional education, but they teach this shit to literal five-year-olds.”

“I first saw ice when I was eleven.” Malik’s face felt warm and he doubted it was because of the alcohol. “Rishid took me to a café right after we left home and bought me a lemonade with crushed ice mixed into it. I didn’t know stuff could be that cold; it felt like my brain was going to explode.”

Jounouchi shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think that was the ice.”

“Rude. Anyway, I told you it was embarrassing,” Malik huffed. “I can’t remember huge chunks of my life, but I remember that glass of lemonade like I had it this morning.”

“Nah, I get it,” Jounouchi said, signalling for a second bottle. “I never thought about it that way. You grew up in the desert. Like _in_ the desert. It’s not like there were blocks of ice hanging around the Savannah.”

“Sahara.”

“Whichever.”

“They’re literally different places.”

“Least they’re on the same continent.”

Malik let the topic drop, if only to preserve his relatively good mood. He slid off a piece of charred mushroom from one of the skewers, watching Jounouchi completely strip a chicken wing in one bite. It was disgustingly impressive. He rubbed his cheeks to try and disperse the fuzzy heat that usually came with a good drink, looking a bit like a chipmunk while doing so. 

“And you said these things were ‘dinky’,” Jounouchi teased, his own complexion nearly matching the lanterns overhead. 

“Fuck, 12% alcohol?” Malik asked, inspecting the bottom of the can. “Ryou told me he could put down three of these. Does he have a problem?”

“Loads, but I’m pretty sure drinking ain’t one of them.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. I’ve got first-hand experience with that shit.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

Jounouchi raised an eyebrow. “Is this the ‘stupid secret’ you want me to tell you?”

“I mean, you did say you had nothing to hide.”

“Then I’ll do you one better; I’ll tell you _two._ See this?” Jounouchi popped off the cap from his second drink, letting it fall noisily onto the table. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

“What?” Malik gaped, nearly falling out of his chair. “But you’re all red!”

Jounouchi shrugged. “You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”

“...I’m—”

“I’ve actually never touched the stuff,” he continued, refusing to let Malik finish his sentence. “To tell you the truth, getting drunk kind of scares me.”

“So why are we at a bar?” Malik asked, grabbing the bottle to see if Jounouchi was telling the truth. “I can’t believe you’re willingly drinking something that smells like pee.”

“Eh, _pee_ r pressure?”

“I hate you for that.”

“It’s actually not that bad,” Jounouchi said, taking back his drink. “I get stuck as the designated driver every time I hang out with anyone from uni, but it’s better than people going around calling me a loser for refusing invites.”

“But _you’re_ the one who brought _me_ here.” Malik sighed. “I would’ve been fine going to a takoyaki stand. I found one by the apartment that’ll substitute the octopus with cheese.”

“Okay, don’t hit me, but after so many all-nighters I thought you could’ve used a few drinks.”

“You stayed up with me.”

“Only ‘cause I had homework to do!”

“On the same exact nights I did?”

“Pure coincidence.”

Malik hummed, emptying the rest of his drink into the glass. The ball of ice had melted unevenly, leaving a large dent in its side. “So, what’s the second secret?”

“I mean, everyone else already knows, so I guess it’s not really a ‘secret’. I just figured I should probably get you up to speed.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Would each of those ears have an earring too?”

“ _Don’t_ , I’m not sober enough to deal with that mental image,” Malik said, pressing his face into his hands.

Jounouchi grinned, however he knew he couldn’t stall forever. He took a quick sip of his drink to wet his throat and tried to think of the best place to start. He’d always wondered if Malik accessed any of his memories while forcing him to duel Yuugi, but considering how focused he was on revenge back then, Jounouchi doubted he would’ve bothered. 

“My old man’s an alcoholic,” he said evenly, staring at a point somewhere above Malik’s left shoulder. “And I’ve heard that shit might be genetic, so...”

Malik nodded. “That makes sense.”

“He’s always had a drinking problem. I remember having to carry these huge bags of empty cans to the recycling centre as a kid. It got even worse after my mom divorced him.” He took another sip. “She took Shizuka with her and left me to deal with that asshole on my own.”

“She didn’t take you too?”

“Nah. We didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye either. I’m still kind of pissed about it, but she needed to get out fast.”

“Was it because of money issues, or—”

“He’d hit her,” Jounouchi said, wiping a hand over his mouth. “Whenever Shizuka and I went to bed, I’d hear them yelling at each other in the kitchen. It was always over the dumbest things. Not washing the dishes, forgetting to hang the laundry, fucking coughing too loud; he’d use whatever excuse he could find. Then once she opened her mouth—” Malik flinched as Jounouchi slammed his hand against their table. “Every goddamn night. When he got tired of her, he’d focus on me. I swear I’ve had every common household object thrown at my face.”

Malik couldn’t help but think of Rishid. 

“I went to school covered in bruises and had to lie about where I got them. All the teachers thought I was some clumsy idiot,” Jounouchi said, his jaw clenched. “He said if I told them the truth, they’d take me and Shizuka away and I’d never see her again.”

“Did he hit her too?” Malik asked quietly. The ice was almost completely hollowed out from the inside.

Jounouchi chuckled bitterly. “Mom took her and left before he got the chance. If he ever tried to do anything to her, I’d have—” 

He stopped himself, noticing how tightly Malik was gripping his glass. It was one thing to throw around the idea of killing someone as a morbid, self-indulgent, revenge fantasy; it was another to do it in front of someone who'd actually gone through with it, albeit indirectly.

Jounouchi allowed the thought to roll around in his head, basting it in the anger and resentment he still held for the man he was unfortunate enough to call his father. It was probably unhealthy to hold a grudge for so long, but the wounds still felt so fresh. If he cared to try, Jounouchi was sure all his life’s problems could be traced back to his troubled home life.

Was he being irrational? Maybe.

Did he care? Not really. 

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the weight that settled on his chest lessening slightly. Jounouchi forced himself to smile, though Malik had been staring rather intently at their napkin dispenser for the past few minutes. 

“Moving out of there was the best decision I could’ve made,” he said, leaning back into his seat. “No beer cans taking up half the fridge, no coming home to busted appliances, I don’t get ash trays thrown at me when I walk into the living room— Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was dead right now and this was heaven.”

“But I’m here,” Malik reminded him. 

“I know.”

Malik wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Jounouchi downed half of his not-beer and slammed the bottle back onto the table. “God, I hate that guy. He could die of alcohol poisoning tomorrow and I’d say, ‘good riddance.’ What an absolute garbage heap of a human being.”

The words weren't directed at him, however Malik could still feel their sting. It was difficult listening to someone speak with so much hatred for their parent, especially when so many of Jounouchi's grievances could be applied to his own father.

...Then again, it wasn't fair of him to draw too many comparisons, especially since his father's behaviour wasn't entirely his fault. ~~[Liar.]~~ It was because of the initiation ritual. ~~[Excuses.]~~ How many Ishtars had been broken by that ceremony? That was why his father was so angry all the time. ~~[No, it wasn't.]~~

It wasn't his fault. ~~[He knew exactly what he was doing.]~~

> _‘If he ever tried to do anything to her, I’d have—’_

Have what? ~~[Killed him.]~~

Why? Why would anyone ever think that? ~~[You know why.]~~

Why would anyone wish harm on their own family? ~~[You know why.]~~

Family was everything. ~~[Liar.]~~

Family was all he had. ~~[ **_Liar._ ** ] ~~

“Sorry,” Jounouchi said, yanking Malik back into reality. “I didn’t mean to throw a wet blanket over everything. It’s been a while since I had a good vent about that douchebag.” 

“It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Huh?”

Jounouchi nodded towards his drink.

Malik glanced down. 

His hands were shaking.

“It’s just from the cold,” he insisted, wiping them discreetly against his jeans. ”Anyway, it’s not your fault for oversharing. I mean, I asked.”

“Yeah, but not for all of _that._ ”

“Well, no. Honestly I’m surprised you were cool with telling me something so personal.” He smirked. “That means you trust me, right?”

A pinkish hue gradually flooded Jounouchi’s face as he registered the weight of Malik’s words. 

“I— Yeah? Yeah. I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: mentions of alcoholism and domestic abuse** — The last section after the second line break involves Jounouchi detailing his relationship with his father and Malik attempting to rationalise _his_ father’s abusive behaviour. As both potential triggers are listed in the story’s main tags, they'll be recurring themes going forward.
> 
> \--
> 
> Decided to post a day early because I'll be too busy tomorrow; consider this an early Christmas present from me! The next chunk of chapters are some of my favourites, so I'm excited for all of you >:3c
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone reading! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated; I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for possible triggers. The warnings for this chapters are also potential spoilers.

“Ryou.”

“Yes?”

“That thing is unbelievably cursed.”

“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It’s definitely you,” Malik said, keeping a safe distance from the porcelain doll that Ryou insisted on carrying around. 

It was the Saturday after Halloween and every shop in Domino City was desperately trying to get rid of their unsold ghosts and pumpkins. Ryou adored browsing the leftover decorations for unique items at borderline illegal prices, much to his friends’ chagrin. This year he’d asked Malik to tag along so he would have an extra set of arms to help carry his things, but other than the doll, Ryou was having a difficult time finding anything of interest. For some reason, Halloween had transformed into a celebration of the cute and mildly quirky instead of the horrifying and grotesque.

He found a black velvet headband with cat ears glued unevenly onto either side while digging through a BOGO bin. It looked like something he would’ve made in primary school. “This is the fifth store we’ve been to with these hideous things.”

“To be honest, it feels like we’ve been going to the same store at different addresses,” Malik grumbled, leaning against an open coffin prop.

“I swear, they put in less effort every year,” Ryou said with a frown, tossing the offending accessory back into the discount pile. “This cheap nonsense is an insult to Halloween.”

“That was 1500 yen on sale; I wouldn’t call it cheap.”

“Expensive nonsense is even worse.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “No one’s forcing you to buy it. Why don’t you pay for the haunted doll so we can try somewhere else?”

“I dunno, I think I might be able to get this cheaper online,” Ryou said, inspecting his lucky find. The doll’s glassy eyes lolled to the side, terrifying a nearby child. “Can I borrow your phone and check?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“It’ll start showing me weird ads if you search for that thing.”

“Then I’ll use Incognito.” Ryou held out his hand expectantly, but Malik made no move to comply. “...Do you need a moment to clear your message notifications first?”

“What are you implying?” Malik asked too quickly to evade suspicion.

Ryou raised an eyebrow. “Depends. What are you implying that I’m implying?”

“Clearly I’m implying that you’re implying implications.”

“What sorts of implications?”

“Wrong ones.”

“Such as?”

“That I’d have any reason to hide my texts from you.”

“Let me use your phone then.”

“...Hold on a second.”

Ryou located a security camera and stared into it wearily as Malik did what he’d suggested in the first place. When he was finally allowed the phone, Malik kept a close eye on his every move, making Ryou even more tempted to peek at his forbidden messages. What nuggets of treasure would he discover? Pet names? Custom emojis? Peaches and eggplants? The _scandal._

Malik began to tap his foot impatiently and Ryou wondered if he knew how incredibly non-threatening he appeared.

Perhaps he needed a visual. 

“Say cheese!” he said suddenly, capturing a perfect shot of the blonde’s pout.

“Wh— Ryou!”

“Goodness, it’s impossible to catch you at a bad angle, isn’t it?”

“Delete that!” Malik demanded, reaching for his phone.

“Why? You look great!” Ryou ducked under Malik’s arm and showed him the photo from afar. “The fur on your hood offers some beautiful contrast to your choker. It’s _very_ regal.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course!”

“Well— I mean, I did spend a lot of time getting ready this morning…”

Ryou smiled; this was far too easy. “I’m sure Jounouchi thinks so too.”

If looks could kill, he would’ve been dead before he hit the ground. 

“Oh, don’t be like that; it’s perfectly natural for friends to find each other attractive,” Ryou said reassuringly, walking towards the checkout. “Doubly so if they live together!”

“Friends? We’re hardly acquaintances.”

“Uh huh. Is that why you let him call you ‘Mal’?”

“How did you—”

“I can’t believe he got to give you a nickname before I did,” Ryou huffed, facing Malik as soon as he claimed a spot in line. “Now what’s left for me to use? Mali? Matcha? I suppose that one’s kind of cute.”

“Matcha? Like the tea?”

“Yeah! You know, because if you shorten Malik-chan to Ma-chan, it kind of sounds like matcha.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“I’m flexible!”

Malik snorted. “It’s not that big a deal, really; I just got sick of everyone calling me Ishtar. I was starting to wonder if anyone knew my actual name.”

“Well, you don’t call Jounouchi or Kaiba by their given names either,” Ryou said with a shrug. 

“What are you talking about? Kaiba’s surname is Corporation.”

The pair stared at each other in silence before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Ryou’s purchase garnered quite a few uneasy glances from the other customers. Their cashier was afraid to touch it, even claiming that she’d never seen it in the store before. Ryou dismissed it as an unfunny joke, though Malik seemed genuinely worried they’d accidentally brought another cursed artifact into their lives.

The inconsistencies made Ryou even more excited about bringing it back to his apartment. He planned to place it in a window facing the main street, slightly adjusting its pose every hour to scare anyone that happened to be paying attention. Malik told him that sounded amazingly pointless, which naturally meant Ryou had his full support.

The sun was well on its way down by the time they left, the long autumn nights slowly eating up what little daylight they still had. Though Domino’s shopping district was always brightly lit, the short walk back to Jounouchi’s apartment would be less so, and Ryou was hesitant to leave Malik on his own. 

“Do you need me to come with you?” he asked, slipping the large shopping bag over his shoulder. “I’ve no problem staying at Jounouchi’s overnight.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s not that far,” Malik insisted. “Besides, I don’t think Jounouchi would appreciate you bringing that into his apartment. Sorry _Operation: Go, Go Halloween Haul_ was such a bust.”

“No worries; quality over quantity and all that! I’d much rather one amazing find over ten mediocre ones. Also, _thank you_ for using our mission’s full name.”

“As long as you aren’t too disappointed.”

Ryou shook his head. “I had a lot of fun today! Thanks again for coming with me.”

“Anytime.”

“So, you’re sure you’ll be fine walking back by yourself?”

“I’m not a baby Ryou,” Malik said with a half-hearted glare.

"Of course not! You’re a perfectly normal-ish young adult that's scared of the dark."

It was hard not to laugh at the sour expression on Malik’s face. 

“You don’t pull any punches, huh?”

“Only because I know you can handle it.”

“But what if you were wrong? Wouldn’t you feel awful about making me cry?”

“Jounouchi would help you feel better."

“Seriously, how boring is your life right now?” Malik asked, deadpan. “Anyway, don’t you have a bus to catch?”

Ryou checked his wristwatch and bit back a word that would undoubtedly tarnish his good boy reputation. He had about five minutes to make it to the nearest bus stop before he’d be forced to wait another hour for the next ride. 

“Last chance Malik,” he said, getting ready to fight the crowd as soon as he got his answer.

Malik sighed and turned to leave. “I’ll see you later.”

The oversized shopping bag thudded against Ryou’s side as he made his way towards the bus stop on the opposite end of the street, dodging a number of distracted shoppers on the way. He nearly tripped over a pram in his hurry, failing to notice the faint vibration coming from his back pocket as he offered the mother a hasty apology.

> **Jounouchi Katsuya** **  
> ** **[20:37]** _hey_ _  
> _ **[20:37]** _don’t come back yet_ _  
> _ **[20:38]** _actually, maybe ask if you can stay at ryou’s tonight_ _  
> _ **[20:38]** _honda’s here_

* * *

  
An off-brand Keurig let out a pained groan as it squeezed the last few droplets of coffee into a waiting mug. Although it messed up his already abysmal sleeping schedule, a piping hot cup of caffeine after dinner had become something of a ritual for Jounouchi since he started living on his own. The simplicity of popping a plastic pod into the noisy device was oddly relaxing. 

Jounouchi slid the fresh brew to Honda, who'd stopped by after confirming multiple times that Malik wouldn't be there. While he’d been reluctant to allow him back after the mess he'd made during his last visit, Jounouchi was confident Honda would be willing to listen now that the shock of his new roommate had worn off. 

"Sorry again," Honda said, rubbing the back of his neck. "About how I acted last time."

Jounouchi grabbed a second mug and pressed another pod into the machine. "Appreciate it, but I'm not the one you need to be apologising to."

"You are though," he stressed. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Obviously you couldn't have said anything with the guy standing right there."

" _...That's_ what You're apologising for?"

Honda nodded.

"For the love of—"

Okay. Deep breaths. He had to remind himself that Honda was only acting this way out of concern. He hadn't seen how much Malik had changed since Battle City, so his attitude, while frustrating, was completely reasonable.

"Listen to me. I'm not being bribed, I'm not being blackmailed, and I'm not being brainwashed."

"So you're being manipulated."

"I'm doing a favour for someone I consider a _friend_ ." Jounouchi noted the scepticism on Honda’s face as he poured a generous amount of flavoured creamer into his drink. "Trust me, Rishid's a good guy. He stuck with Mal to keep him in check, not because he agreed with everything he did. ...I mean, I don’t think _enabling_ him was the best way to go about it, but as a big brother myself I can see where he was coming from. Sort of." 

“Uh huh.”

"I should introduce you sometime." 

"Nah, I'm good."

"You sure? They're both into bikes. I bet you three could talk about wheels and handlebars for hours."

"I don't care. I don't want anything to do with them."

"That's fine," Jounouchi said, adding two packets of sugar into his coffee. "But you’ve gotta stop thinking this is some secret murder plot I'm too stupid to pick up on. If he wanted me dead, he could've killed me ten times already. It's not like these doors have any locks."

"...I guess."

Jounouchi figured that was as close to acceptance as he was going to get.

He took a tentative sip and realised he’d accidentally grabbed Malik’s mug instead of a spare. His lips lingered on its rim as the ridiculous notion of indirect kissing wormed its way into his mind. 

“So, how’s work been treating you?” Jounouchi asked, choosing to ignore that mental image for now. “Are they letting you fly solo yet or does Daddy still need to hold your hand?”

Honda shot him a smug grin. “I managed my first shift this week, as a matter of fact.”

“Aw, I bet all those guys twice your age really appreciated the boss’s kid telling them what to do.”

“It was rough.”

“Course it was; you gotta earn their respect first,” Jounouchi said, thumping a fist against his chest. “Show them you know what you’re talking about and you’ll have them on your side in no time. Maybe offer to buy them a lunch or three.”

“Is that legal?”

“Hey, whatever works.” 

Honda downed the rest of his drink, which at this point was practically sweetened milk. “I saw your old man the other day at lunch, by the way. He goes to the same gyudon place every afternoon and asks around for change. It’s pretty pathetic.”

Jounouchi replied with a disinterested grunt.

“Have you talked to him since you moved out?”

“Nope.”

“Do you plan to?”

“Nope.”

“Ever?”

Jounouchi drummed his fingers against the counter. “Might show up unannounced at his funeral and knock his teeth in for shits and giggles.”

“Damn.”

“What? It’s not like he’ll need them where he’s going.”

Honda let out a breathy chuckle. “You really hate that guy, huh?”

“More than anything on the goddamn planet,” he mumbled into his mug. “Guy could drop dead this second and it’d be too late. Fuck, I’d off him myself if I had to.”

“That’s horrible.”

Both Jounouchi and Honda nearly dropped their mugs as an unexpected third voice joined their conversation.

Malik stood breathlessly in the hallway, cheeks flushed from the cold. He was glaring at Jounouchi with an expression he couldn’t readily name, but it made him feel very small. 

“Wait, why are you—” he checked his phone to make sure his messages had gone through. Though they'd all been successfully sent, none of them had been read. 

Shit.

“How could you say that about your own father?”

Jounouchi bit the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were staying at Ryou’s tonight.”

“Why?” Malik asked, eyes narrowing. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing! Honda came over to apologise and we made some curry. Right?” He looked to his old friend for backup. 

Though Honda was noticeably uncomfortable, he managed a stiff nod. Malik hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge him.

“Why didn’t you want me to come home?”

“...Uh—”

“Not an answer.”

Jounouchi tried his best not to wither under Malik’s intense gaze.

“I didn’t want a repeat of last time,” he said.

Malik bristled. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“I never said it was!”

“But _I’m_ the one that has to stay away?”

“Why are you making such a big deal outta this? I was giving you a heads up!”

“I should get going,” Honda said, carefully stepping around Malik. Getting caught between two angry blondes didn’t really fit into his list of things to do that weekend. “Thanks again for hearing me out.”

Jounouchi was torn between insisting he stay and telling him to get out before he got caught in the crossfire. “Anytime man.” 

While nothing about the situation seemed ideal, Honda didn’t want to risk escalating the situation by being there, especially since he and Jounouchi had just managed to patch things up. He’d spent the better part of their dinner insisting Malik wasn’t ‘that bad’ anymore, so hopefully this argument would be all bark and no bite.

Honda paused before leaving the apartment, clearing his throat to try and catch Malik’s attention. It didn’t work, but at least no one could say he wasn’t trying. 

“I’m sorry about what I said last time,” he said. “About your family, anyway.”

Malik spared Honda a disinterested glance. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

"Mal—"

“You hear that Jounouchi?” Honda called before walking out, pulling his zipper all the way to his chin.

Once outside, he waffled between the closed door and the empty stairwell, afraid that going home would subject Jounouchi to a grisly fate at the hands of someone he’d so stubbornly defended.

Was he overreacting? Should he call someone?

Honda chewed on his lower lip and walked back to the apartment, pressing an ear against the door. He couldn’t hear anything, which he took as a good sign. Jounouchi was annoyingly loud when he was angry; if a fight had broken out, he was sure there’d be more of a commotion inside. Since it was quiet, they were probably talking it out like perfectly reasonable, non-emotionally volatile adults.

Emphasis on ‘probably’.

Besides, even if things _did_ get physical, Honda doubted Malik could do much damage without that golden sceptre he had during Battle City. The guy only ate vegetables _,_ for goodness’ sake. All it would take to knock him out was a good, solid punch, which Jounouchi was perfectly capable of delivering.

So it would be fine.

Jounouchi would be fine.  
  


* * *

  
Malik on the other hand was decidedly not fine. 

“What’s up Mal?” Jounouchi asked, walking back into the main room after replacing the locks. The last thing he needed was for Honda to barge back in and make things worse.

Malik was upset, that much was obvious, but why? From what he could recall, they hadn’t said anything particularly insulting about him. Jounouchi wondered if he might have taken Honda’s visit the wrong way; mentioning that he thought he was staying with Ryou didn’t exactly help.

Did that mean Malik was jealous? Should he be flattered? Because he was kind of flattered.

...This wasn’t the best thing to focus on while Malik was on the verge of a meltdown, was it? 

“I don’t know,” he confessed, frantically combing his fingers through his hair.

Well, that didn’t help.

Jounouchi tested his luck and gently grabbed Malik’s wrist, worried he was going to start pulling. 

“Hey, hey, chill out, okay?”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop talking about your father like that,” Malik said, sounding like he’d just run an uphill marathon. “It’s wrong.”

“…For real?” Jounouchi asked incredulously. Malik nodded so earnestly that any hope he had of this being an elaborate joke was promptly extinguished. “What about it was 'wrong'?”

“You were being disrespectful.”

There was something painfully hilarious about someone as flippant as Malik chiding him about a lack of respect.

“And? I’m allowed to be pissed at my dad for making my life a complete shitshow,” Jounouchi said evenly, struggling to think of that deadbeat drunk as his father after denying it for so long. “Just like you’re allowed to be angry at yours for all the things he did to you.”

Surprisingly, Malik laughed.

“My father’s never done anything to me.”

"...What?"

"He's never hurt me."

Jounouchi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mal, there’s a big ol’ wound on your back that says otherwise.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “He didn’t want to do it. It’s part of our family’s custom to—”

"He _chose_ to do that to you."

"Because there wasn’t an option to refuse!" 

“Yes there was! He could've just, I dunno, not fucking carved up his own son?"

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know he’d beat Rishid.”

“But not me, not on purpose,” Malik insisted, talking more to himself than Jounouchi. “Rishid and Isis have every right to be upset with him, I won’t deny them that. But I was his favourite; everyone said so, even when they thought I couldn’t hear them. Why would I hate him? I don't hate him.” Another weak laugh. “I pity him. Imagine being forced to dedicate your whole existence to a dead king — isn't that sad?” 

Jounouchi was starting to realise this was _way_ beyond what he was capable of dealing with on his own. He needed to get Rishid on a video call, however leaving Malik to stew in his deranged ramblings while he went to fetch his laptop didn’t sound like a good idea.

“Uh, so, earlier I found this video of a fat cat trying to fit into a shoebox. You wanna come watch it in my bedroom?”

“...Excuse me?”

That didn’t work. 

“You think I’m crazy,” Malik said accusingly, clutching his upper arms. 

Jounouchi took his hands again. “No, it’s— Look, you’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

“But—” 

“Just breathe, okay?”

“...Okay.”

It was remarkable how challenging the basic act of breathing was when one actually had to think about it. Jounouchi tried to focus on evening out his own rhythm, though even that was easier said than done. Did people really breathe this slowly? He felt like he was going to suffocate if he kept at this pace. In and out, in and out...wasn’t this something pregnant women did?

Malik closed his eyes and attempted to match the pace he'd set, his shoulders rising and falling with each unsteady breath. Jounouchi hated that the first thought that sprung to mind was how pretty he was. Maybe tending to his appearance was another way of hiding the mess inside his head; no one would ever suspect that someone so blindingly attractive would have more problems than a math book.

Jounouchi kept a firm grip on Malik’s wrists throughout, which Malik hadn’t noticed until he finally opened his eyes. He didn't seem as agitated as before, but Jounouchi wasn't convinced they were out of the woods just yet.

“I think I’m good,” Malik said, bringing their hands up. “You can let go now.”

“Only if you promise not to scratch up your arms.”

“I’ve never—”

“Yes, you have.”

“Wha— I haven’t!”

“Mal, I’ve _seen_ you,” Jounouchi said through gritted teeth. “Hell, I’ve _watched_ you do it!”

Malik tensed; any progress they’d made washed away in that split second. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Jounouchi!”

“Not until you calm down!”

Malik’s eye twitched and Jounouchi immediately knew that he’d fucked up. Instead of pulling away, Malik pushed forward, throwing his full weight onto his right shoulder and slamming Jounouchi against the nearest wall. Their position was vaguely intimate, however the circumstances were anything but. Up close, Jounouchi could see that Malik’s pupils had constricted, giving him the same manic look he recognised from Battle City, even before his other self had taken over. 

“I _know_ you didn’t just tell me to _calm down_ ,” he hissed.

“Yep, no, that was my bad,” Jounouchi said, the back of his head throbbing in pain.

He needed to get a hold of Rishid. Would his voice alone be enough? He still had his phone in his pocket. Then again, who knew what might happen if he released Malik’s hands in this state?

“This is all your fault,” he panted, breath hot on Jounouchi’s cheek. “If you weren’t so ungrateful—”

“Oh my God, will you _shut up_ about that!?” The topic was getting stale and Jounouchi’s patience had officially worn out. “I’m allowed to vent about my own shitty—”

“Stop.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m talking about _my_ dad, not yours!”

“ _Stop it._ ”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this!?”

“Because it’s not fair!” Malik cried, sounding more like a spoiled brat than someone chosen to spearhead the Kaiba Corporation’s latest multi-billion-yen project. “Why does your father get to live when you don’t even want him? While mine is—”

“Mal?”

“Because of me, he’s—”

“Malik!”

Jounouchi felt Malik’s hands slipping from his grasp before he collapsed, his entire body going slack in a matter of seconds. There was a mad scramble as Jounouchi dove to his knees, barely managing to catch Malik before he fell face first onto the hardwood floor. Had he really worked himself up to the point of fainting? Was that normal?

Scratch that — normalcy and Malik didn’t exactly play well together.

After confirming that he was unconscious and not dead, which would’ve been _quite_ the treat to explain, Jounouchi carefully slid Malik off of his lap and onto the floor. Although the situation was troubling, he fully intended to use this brief respite to contact Rishid. How to do so without giving the man a heart attack was something he’d have to deal with later.

Jounouchi’s laptop had been charging for most of the afternoon, its screen displaying a half-finished essay due the upcoming Monday. He saved it twice before closing out of the program, pulling up his chat client and scanning through his contacts for Rishid’s name. Before he could find it, his phone rang, the virtual assistant happily announcing that the call was from Malik Ishtar.

Jounouchi pulled out his phone and stared blankly at the name displayed on its screen, as he was fairly certain Malik had just blacked out in the hallway. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he accepted the call.

“...Hello?”

“Jounouchi?” a voice that definitely wasn’t Malik’s answered back. “It’s Ryou!”

“Ryou? Wha—” Jounouchi looked over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t somehow missed Ryou entering his apartment. “Why d’you have Mal’s phone?” 

“Because I was being stupid,” he said tiredly. “I accidentally kept it with me when I borrowed it to Google something.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I saw the texts you sent him earlier this evening; did anything happen? Are they alright?”

Jounouchi grimaced. “...Uh. Honda’s fine.”

“And Malik?”

“ _Well—_ ”

“Oh no.”

“Man, I don’t know what the fuck happened,” Jounouchi said, scratching the back of his head. “He freaked out when he heard me talking shit about my old man and then went through the twelve stages of grief in a single sentence.”

“There are only five stages of grief.”

“He might’ve added a couple extra.”

Ryou sighed. “Has he settled down?”

“In a sense.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“He sorta passed out—”

“That’s terrible!”

“—but I was about to call Rishid to ask what I should do.”

“You’re awfully calm about all this.”

“Well, panicking ain’t gonna do us any good,” Jounouchi said. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he picked up his laptop and carried it into the living room, setting it onto the kotatsu. “Think you can swing by tomorrow and give him his phone back?”

“Of course! God, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t taken it in the first place, none of this would’ve—”

“ ** _Shit!_ **”

“What? What happened? Jounouchi?”

“He’s gone,” Jounouchi said, a prickling numbness slowly building in his fingers.

The hallway was empty and the apartment door had been left wide open, letting in the chilly evening wind. 

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“I mean he’s fucking _gone!_ ”

“I thought you said he fainted?”

“He did!”

There was a stunned pause on Ryou’s end. “So then how did he leave!?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Jounouchi, unconscious people don’t just stand up and walk away!”

“This one did!” he insisted, hanging over the outside railing. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he scoured the parking lot for any sign of movement. Other than a pair of moths and a stray cat, no one else was out at this hour. 

“Don’t panic. He can’t have gone far,” Ryou said. “It’s pitch-black outside and he’s terrified of the dark.”

“There are streetlights leading up to our complex though.”

“Follow them then! You have a car, don’t you? How long has it been since you last saw him?”

“Less than ten minutes?”

“Surely you’ll be able to catch up to him?”

Jounouchi slapped a hand against his forehead. “You’re a genius Ryou.”

“I suppose one of us has to be.”

“Alright, I’m gonna hang up — I’ll keep you updated if I find something,” he said, running back inside to grab his coat.  
  


* * *

  
Mokuba rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited outside of the movie theatre, occasionally looking up from his phone to see if their driver had arrived. He loosened the flannel scarf around his neck and sent off another text, regretting that he hadn’t taken up his friend’s offer for a ride home.

Everyone at his high school knew who he was and what he did, but showing off his immense wealth didn’t bring the same swell of pride it did when he was younger; in fact, it was almost embarrassing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d gotten used to living in a mansion or whether he’d become jaded at the amount of false friends he’d accumulated over the years. Unlike his brother, Mokuba actually _did_ enjoy talking to people, but he was slowly starting to understand why Seto always kept everyone at arm’s length.

Amidst the din of disjointed conversations, irate grumbling in a language he didn’t recognise drew Mokuba's attention towards a very familiar face mixed into the crowd. 

It was always strange seeing co-workers outside of the office and Malik was no exception, even though they'd technically ‘met’ before. He was searching his pockets for something that wasn’t there and getting more annoyed by the second.

“Malik?” Mokuba called out.

The blond started and met him with wide eyes. Despite the cold, Mokuba could see beads of sweat running down his cheek. Had he been running?

Eventually, Malik offered him a tired smile. “Hey. It’s kind of weird seeing you without a suit.”

“Yeah? It’s weird seeing you in a jacket.”

Mokuba waved him over and Malik hesitantly joined him, glancing around nervously.

“Did you lose something?” Mokuba asked.

“My phone,” Malik said, puffing out his cheeks. “I lent it to someone earlier and I don’t think they ever gave it back. I know that’s on me, but…”

He trailed off, absently rubbing his bare wrists; there was clearly something distracting him other than his missing phone. Mokuba had never seen him so anxious.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “No offense, but you’re a little out of it.”

Malik’s already weak smile faltered. “...Not really. Jounouchi and I had a row.”

“Was it bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Oh.” Mokuba bit his lip. “Um. Is there anything you need help with, or...?”

Malik was avoiding his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any hotels nearby, would you? Preferably one close to work? I might—” He let out a shaky sigh and Mokuba was amazed he didn’t start crying then and there. “I think I need to figure some stuff out.”

Mokuba wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’d seen enough true crime documentaries to know that sad people and hotel rooms were a bad mix.

“D’you want to stay at our place instead? We have some guest rooms.” 

A flash of Malik’s usual flame sparked from the gloom. “Can I?”

“Sure, why not? Seto's networking at some boring social mixer and won't be home until ass o'clock.” 

“Are you sure he won’t mind?”

“Nope. And even if he did, he wouldn’t throw you out into the cold,” Mokuba said, already sending his driver a third text. “Seto’s not heartless.”

“Ken from accounting says otherwise.”

“There’s a Ken in accounting?”

“There might be.”

“Consider him fired then,” Mokuba grinned, glad to see that Malik was starting to act a bit like his normal self.

His relief was short-lived however, as Malik fell into an eerie silence as soon as they got into the car. Mokuba hopped into the passenger’s side while Malik sat directly behind him, giving their driver a small nod in thanks. 

The Kaiba Manor was further out than most residential areas surrounding downtown Domino, but the drive only took an extra ten minutes at most. Mokuba checked on Malik every so often using the side mirror, his concern growing each time.

At first, he thought Malik was watching the city lights blur past their windows, but Mokuba soon realised that he wasn’t really staring at anything at all. There was a sort of detached emptiness in Malik’s eyes that reminded him of the time Seto had gone into a waking coma after his defeat at Death-T.

Mokuba tried to piece together what may have happened, coming to the sobering conclusion that Malik had run away after fighting with Jounouchi. He hadn’t asked what their argument was about, but it must have been something serious to rattle him this badly. Then again, Jounouchi didn’t strike him as someone who would be excessively cruel, which made the situation all the more perplexing.

Eventually the sprawling grounds of Kaiba Manor crept into view. The path winding through their gardens was lit by hundreds of small lanterns, a few of which were actually hidden security cameras. As soon as their car pulled into the long driveway, Mokuba got out and went to open Malik’s door, only to find him already waiting outside. He still looked a bit distant, but he was at least somewhat aware of his surroundings.

Gravel crunched underneath their soles as they made their way towards the house; Mokuba had chosen to take the long way around to avoid the sprinklers. He glanced back, glad to see that Malik was actively taking in the sights.

“Impressed?”

“It’s big,” Malik said quietly, blinking up at the massive mansion in awe. It was definitely a step up from Jounouchi’s cramped apartment, and an even greater leap from his ancestral home back in Egypt. 

“Are you two the only ones that live here?” he asked, following Mokuba up the stone stairs leading to the entrance.

“Yup. Our staff lives on a different part of the property. We have a personal chef and housekeepers that come in to clean, but they’re not around during the weekends.”

“I’m guessing that means you order carry out on those days?”

Mokuba smirked. “Bingo.”

Compared to the sterile blues and silvers of KaibaCorp, the manor’s interior was refreshingly understated despite its opulence. While blue continued to serve as the primary accent colour, it was more subdued than the loud neon littered around the office building.

An ornate chandelier hung above the foyer, casting a warm light over the enormous split staircase that led to the upper floors. Other than some end tables and decorative plants (that were actually alive), there wasn’t much in terms of furniture; however, what little there was managed to look expensive in spite of their simplicity. One could actually picture someone living there. 

Before taking him upstairs, Mokuba took Malik on a brief tour of the first floor, pointing out necessities like the kitchen and bathrooms. He also showed off a number of souvenirs and statement pieces they’d brought in from around the world, a few of which Malik recognised from his sister’s museum.

“So, what d’you think?” Mokuba asked, making his way up the stairs.

“Honestly? I was expecting like, twenty more Blue Eyes statuettes,” Malik said, still weirdly soft spoken. 

Mokuba snorted. “Luckily, our designer talked him down to three. Seto had the whole place remodelled after our stepfather died. He was pretty insistent about replacing everything that belonged to Gozaburo.”

Malik stopped near the top of the staircase, an odd look crossing his face.

“You didn’t care for your father?"

Mokuba trailed his fingers along the wooden handrail, unsure whether he wanted to admit something so personal. “You could say that.”

“Didn’t he adopt you?” Malik asked. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think he actually _wanted_ us.”

“Why not?”

“We were never sons to him," Mokuba said with a shrug. He'd accepted this truth a long time ago, but it felt freeing to say it out loud. "I don’t think Gozaburo even liked kids. He was looking for someone he could shape into a model heir for his company.”

Malik felt his throat run dry. “An heir?”

Mokuba nodded. “Like, I know everyone thinks my brother’s a heartless jerk or whatever, but—” His jaw clenched. “It was really messed up. Gozaburo put him through a lot and Seto sort of _had_ to become like that or else he would've broken completely.”

~~[Broken?]~~

“He wasn’t a good person. That’s all I can say.”

The incessant ringing that echoed in Malik's ears since leaving the apartment had gone from a muffled hum to an unbearable screech. A sharp, searing pain pierced him between the eyes, its barbs flaring into his skull and ripping apart what little semblance of sanity he had.

Malik exhaled sharply and brought his hands to either side of his head, afraid it was going to split open at any second. He couldn't even see straight; the pressure was excruciating.

“Malik?" Mokuba said worriedly, rushing to his side. "Hey! Malik, are you okay? Say something!”

He forced himself to focus on Mokuba's voice, though it sounded like it was coming from a world away. 

“Sorry, it’s—” He winced. “My head’s killing me. I’ve been having the worst migraines lately.”

“Oh! Right, right...” 

Mokuba ran ahead of him and walked past a row of doors, unlocking the furthest one down. It was one of their smaller guest rooms, but its large windows allowed for a generous amount of natural light. He would often find Malik lounging in the sun during his lunch breaks and figured he would appreciate the gesture. Even now, the room had an almost ethereal glow under the moon. 

Malik peeked inside.

“...It’s—”

“Too much?” Mokuba asked, assuming that he’d been put off by the admittedly tacky paintings decorating the walls. A Blue Eyes White Dragon inserted into the Birth of Venus _was_ one of his brother’s more questionable decisions.

“Dark."

Mokuba blinked. “Oh.”

Seriously? All he needed to do was turn on one of the lamps. Was he scared of the dark? Mokuba remembered Malik had been hesitant about going into Death-T until they fixed all the lights.

Oh well. Mokuba had an irrational fear of hamburgers of all things, so it wasn’t his place to judge. He moved to flip on the light switch.

“On second thought, you can keep them off,” Malik said, fanning his fingers over the panel. All traces of apprehension had vanished from his voice. “We should be heading to bed anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Mokuba asked, raising an eyebrow. Hadn’t he just complained about it being too dark?

Malik walked into the room without a moment’s pause, answering Mokuba's question. With his back to the door, the blond slipped out of his jacket and allowed himself a much-needed stretch, lean muscles flexing visibly beneath his undershirt. 

Mokuba lingered by the door, a sense of unease settling somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. He knew from experience that Malik was prone to rather dramatic mood swings, but this was extreme even for him.

“...Well. Okay. Feel free to call me if you need anything else,” Mokuba said, backing into the hall. He swung the door closed, letting it click shut behind him.

Malik glanced over his shoulder, bright lilac eyes slowly clouding into a muddled plum as a fanged grin played across his lips.

“Nighty night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: rationalising abuse, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation** — All warnings apply after the first line break until the end of the chapter.
> 
> \--
> 
> New year new...Malik >:3c Yami Malik's one of my _favourite_ characters to write, so I'm excited to finally bring him into the fray.
> 
> Thanks so much for over 300 hits! My rarepair heart is singing~ Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I like going back and reading them when I'm stuck on a plot point or need a gentle nudge going forward ; w ; )b


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for possible triggers.

Apparently ass o’clock, as Mokuba had so eloquently phrased it, was a little after 1:00AM.

Seto had left the mixer relatively sober, however there was a visible dusting of pink on his pale cheeks, which he chose to blame on the cold rather than the four glasses of wine he’d consumed. While being a billionaire recluse was highly tempting, Seto was well-aware that success depended on who you knew just as much as what you could do. Unfortunately, this meant that socialising was a necessary evil he would have to endure for the foreseeable future.

He held a fist to his mouth to stifle a yawn, closing his eyes briefly as they approached the manor’s driveway. The driver seemed to sense his fatigue and pulled up next to the main entrance, a ballsy move considering Seto would have normally chewed him out for damaging the walking path. He held up a hand to stop the driver from getting out to open his door, fearing he’d fall asleep if he sat there any longer.

Seto popped the collar of his peacoat before exiting the car, wishing he’d thought to bring along a scarf. He slipped his hands into his pockets after dismissing the driver, climbing up the stone steps with hunched shoulders to shield himself from the chilly wind. The cold woke him up enough to notice that someone was watching him from the second floor — someone too tall to be Mokuba.

Before he could get a better look, the figure retreated into the shadows. Seto quickly turned towards the opposite wing of the mansion, locating his brother’s distinctly shaped window. The curtains were drawn, signalling he’d already gone to bed.

Had Mokuba invited someone to sleep over without telling him? It wasn’t really any of his business who his little brother associated with, but he would’ve appreciated a head’s up.

He glanced back at the darkened window and cautiously made his way inside, footfalls echoing against the polished hardwood floors. 

The chandelier had been dimmed for the night, leaving the moon as the foyer’s primary source of light. Seto paused before ascending the staircase, checking his messages to make sure there hadn’t been any notifications of a potential break-in. 

Nothing. 

That meant whoever was staying in the guest room had likely been invited.

Seto peered into the empty hallway; he’d never admit to it out loud, but there were times when Seto doubted his brother’s judgement. He could count the number of friends Mokuba actually kept after gift giving seasons on a single hand. It was both sad and embarrassing that he’d yet to figure out certain people would always see him as nothing more than a bank account. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Seto walked down the hall and stopped in front of the final room. He knocked on the door, stepping back when it swung open at the lightest touch.

Even in the dark, Seto could see that the room was in a worrying state of disarray. Shards of an expensive flower vase were scattered around the windowsill, its contents trampled flat. Most of the furniture lay in pieces, and the linens had been ripped from the bed and torn to shreds. It was like someone locked a rabid wolf inside.

The faint sound of clinking metal served as Seto’s only warning. 

He dropped to the ground right as his would-be attacker swung, their unseen weapon whistling dangerously close to his ear. Seto attempted to roll onto his back, but was pinned down by the unwanted guest, their knees digging painfully into the small of his back. A fountain pen clattered onto the floor as a pair of deceptively delicate hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed, trapping an outraged cry in his throat. He could feel their nails digging into his skin like claws, though the pain was secondary to his struggle to breathe. Stars began to dot his blurring vision as he felt himself gradually becoming more and more lightheaded.

Seto thrashed against the weight of his captor like a mad beast, legs flailing as he attempted to strike them anywhere and in any way he could. A grim smirk pulled at his lips as he felt his boot come into contact with something solid, his efforts rewarded with a sharp cry of pain. The hands around his throat loosened just enough for him to take in a much-needed gasp of air. With all the strength he could muster, Seto pushed himself from the floor, throwing his attacker off and sending them toppling into an upturned nightstand. 

He dove forward and grabbed the first thing within reach, swinging it like a club as he spun to meet his opponent face to face. His hit connected, smashing into the side of their head with a sickening crunch as the end of his makeshift weapon splintered. However, Seto's satisfied grin was promptly replaced with a look of disbelief when he saw who he’d been fighting. 

“Ishtar?”

Half-lidded eyes glared at him through feathered fringe. A trail of blood trickled down his cheek from an open gash above his eye, tracing scarlet over rich brown skin. His usually well-kept hair fell in wild spikes, adding a harshness to his otherwise soft features. 

Seto stared at him in a stunned silence, the hunk of wood slipping from his slack grip. His shoulders rose and fell as his lungs continued to scream for air, though his mind now buzzed with confusion. What was Malik doing here? Why had he attacked him? And why was he acting so—

Malik ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure they were all there before hawking up a wad of blood-tinged saliva. A morbid delight crossed his face as he watched the disgusting mixture spray onto the floor. 

Seto frowned.

Something was wrong. This couldn't be him. Malik would never do something so crude. Seto even recalled him yelling at a fellow employee for daring to blow their nose in his presence. It ended with Malik demanding an apology and his own set of scented hand sanitisers. 

Physically, the person in front of him was undeniably Malik Ishtar, but everything about him was so _off_ that Seto simply refused to believe it. He kept his eyes trained onto the other's injured form as he knelt down to pick up his discarded ‘weapon’. 

“...Who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing. If Atem was the reason for Yuugi’s personality shifts, then perhaps Malik was the vessel for a spirit too? 

Seto brandished his broken chair leg as the blond shifted into a more comfortable position, if such a thing were possible while actively bleeding. He stared at the piece of wood impassively, tilting his head to the side like some sort of monstrous puppy. Seto had no qualms about defending himself, but another heavy blow would surely land Malik in the hospital...and that would _completely_ throw off their project timeline.

“Answer me.”

“Malik Ishtar,” the other said in a low purr, which only succeeded in disturbing Seto further. The voice was clearly Malik’s and yet it also clearly _wasn’t._ If whoever this was hadn’t tried to kill him, he would’ve thought they were trying to get into his bed. “Who else would I be?”

“I don’t know. The Millennium Puzzle housed the soul of a pharaoh; who’s to say the palace jester didn’t get sucked into the sceptre Ishtar wielded?”

Not-Malik barked out a laugh, his lips curling into a cruel snarl. “The only clown I see is the one in front of me.”

“A stable boy then?”

“Don’t you _ever_ lump me in with that royal parasite, dragonfucker.” 

“Let me repeat my question,” Seto said coolly, ignoring the crass nickname. “Who are you?”

“It’s been thirty seconds; my answer hasn’t changed.”

“You’re not Ishtar.” 

“Then who am I?”

“You tell me.”

The other Malik rolled his eyes. “I just did.”

“You’re lying.”

“Well, you’re stupid.”

“...What?”

“See? You’re so stupid you don’t even know what ‘stupid’ means.”

“If you’re not a spirit, then what are you?” Seto asked, pressing the bloodied end of the chair leg into the blonde’s chest. “And if you say ‘Malik Ishtar’ again, I’ll use the other side of your skull for batting practice.”

“Do it. It’ll be hilarious when he wakes up and finds out his boss broke his face.”

“I wasn’t aware Ishtar liked referring to himself in the third person.”

“You aren’t aware of a lot of things, apparently,” he replied with a sneer. “Understandable, since you’re stupid and all.”

Seto clenched his jaw in frustration. “Enlighten me then.”

“Say please.”

The improvised club came crashing down between his legs. 

“There’s two of us!” he screamed, scrambling backwards. “Fucking hell—”

“...Two?” Did Malik have a twin? No, that wouldn't make any sense. Even if he did, there’d be no reason for them to be in Japan with him.

Seto studied the other Malik closely, realising his appearance matched almost exactly with how he’d presented himself during the Battle City finals, though somehow less severe. The only thing missing was that strange, glowing eye. 

Oh. And the veins.

“I thought Atem took care of you,” Seto said, raising an eyebrow. Isis hadn’t mentioned a second Malik in any of their conversations prior to her brother's arrival. Was she in denial or simply unaware that her precious little brother wasn’t as stable as she wanted to believe? 

“You and everyone else. Turns out His Majesty still needed a recycle bin to store all his Bad Thoughts.” The other Malik shot him a patronising smile. “Unfortunately for _you_ , it looks like you can’t get rid of me without damaging the surface personality too.”

Well, this certainly complicated things. How would this work going forward? Would this affect Malik’s ability to get his tasks done? Would the other employees have to be notified? Did he have to pay Malik double the salary now? This wasn’t what he signed up for.

“Does he know you’re around?”

“His Majesty? He’s not a self-deprecating wreck ninety percent of the time, so I’m guessing ‘no’. Can’t exactly show up with that ugly bald brute always hanging around.”

Seto had no idea who he was referring to and frankly didn’t care enough to ask.

“I wouldn’t tell him either. Or our sister. If she finds out I’m back, you can bet your pasty ass that she’ll want him on the first flight back home.” His head lolled to the side, an exaggerated pout set on his lips. “Then you won’t be able to LARP meeting your dead boyfriend.”

“Why are you here?” Seto asked, dismissing the jab.

“You beat us over the head with a wooden plank and expect me to get all existential on you?” Malik asked, deadpan. 

Seto exhaled slowly through his nose. “I meant why are _you_ here instead of the normal one?”

The shit-eating grin was back. “I find it fascinating that you acknowledge there are two of us and still refer to him as ‘normal’.”

“Compared to you he’s the definition of mental stability.”

“Says the guy that creamed himself every time I summoned Ra.”

Seto’s eye twitched. “You tried to kill me.”

“Force of habit,” the other Malik said with a shrug

“Incredible.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“You haven't answered my question.”

“You haven't given me a reason to.”

Anger flaring, Seto brought the chair leg down again. To his dismay, Malik caught it without looking, squeezing the damaged end in his hand until a deep crack nearly split the wood in two. As if sensing Seto’s panic, his disinterested demeanour quickly shifted into something more predatory.

"You're a bigger idiot than I gave you credit for if you seriously think you can keep threatening us with that fucking stick." 

“Then behave.” 

“Fuck you,” he spat, flinging the splintered chair leg aside. Without it, Seto felt horribly exposed.

Malik got to his feet but swayed mid-step, the blow to his head still affecting his balance. With a frustrated sigh, he leant against the wall and inadvertently hit the light switch, allowing Seto a full view of the damage done to his guest room. He was lucky Mokuba managed to avoid Malik’s temper tantrum.

"...This is coming out of your winter bonus," he said, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Nothing in the room was irreplaceable, however Seto was determined to hold him accountable for his growing migraine.

“I got excited. Not having a corporeal form can be kind of a drag.”

Gathering the remnants of his patience, Seto turned to Malik again. The physical differences between the two personas were slightly less noticeable in the light.

"When will the 'other you' return?"

“When it’s safe,” Malik answered, looking startled at himself for doing so. He rubbed idly at his arms and Seto noted a number of angry pink marks running from his elbows down. “His Majesty got into a fight with Jounouchi Katsuya. I didn’t like where his thoughts were heading and took over before he tried jumping off your balcony or something."

Finally, something that made sense. He should’ve known this was all Jounouchi’s fault. 

“That seems counterproductive to your prior motive,” Seto said, crossing his arms. “You were hellbent on having him erased during your duel with Atem.”

“Except he would’ve been fine if I’d won the fucking thing like I was supposed to, stupid.”

“As what, an eyeball?”

“The _cutest_ disembodied eyeball in existence,” Malik cooed. “I would’ve kept him in a gold birdcage and fed him premium eyedrops every day.”

“I had no idea you were capable of such compassion,” Seto said with a mocking smile. “Perhaps losing to Atem blessed you with a conscience.” 

“You wish. In our current situation, I die if he dies. It’s a matter of self-preservation, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say.”

Malik bristled, clearly offended by the accusation that he possessed something as worthless as empathy. What use would that be when his primary purpose, his _only_ purpose, was to survive? The fact that his weaker half had primary control over their body was the only reason he had for ‘protecting’ him. He’d jump at the chance to get rid of him entirely if it were possible without the Millennium Rod’s magic.

His seething was interrupted by an uncomfortable twist in his abdomen. He glanced down in confusion, wondering if Seto managed to stab him while he was distracted. There didn’t appear to be a wound, and yet the pain persisted, this time accompanied by an unpleasant gurgling noise and the overwhelming urge to vomit. 

“What...?”

A strange look crossed Seto’s face before he threw his head back and let out the ugliest laugh. Malik’s gaze drifted towards the open door; not being the most unhinged person in the room was oddly disconcerting.

He growled, pressing his palm against his stomach in an attempt to lessen the discomfort. “What the fuck’s so funny?”

Seto’s laughter stopped as suddenly as it started, his expression returning to its usual mask of indifference. His blue eyes glinted with amusement.

“It sounds like your other self hasn’t eaten today.”  
  


* * *

_  
‘Even if we both sink into the ocean and lose our lives, the fact that you lost will be branded into your memories forever!’ Yuugi cried, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. He stood shakily, tears running down his face as he stared into blank, amber eyes._

_‘Are you listening, Malik!?_ Forever! _’_

 _‘How_ dare _you speak to me! You're nothing but a vessel!’_

_The voice in his head had started off so sweet._

_It chased away his insecurities, cheered on his hopes and dreams, and whispered words of encouragement whenever he doubted his abilities._

_And now it was angry._

_It was bratty and obnoxious, like a spoiled child who hadn’t gotten their way. And yet, despite its nastiness, Jounouchi couldn’t help but feel pity._

_There was a deep sadness in the voice, and a long smouldering pain he couldn't begin to understand._

_‘I'll wipe you off the face of this planet! I hate you...I **hate** you!' _ _  
_

\- - -

Jounouchi pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, a heavy sigh ruffling his fringe.

He was parked outside of the KaibaCorp building, its grounds dark and desolate save for the spotlights illuminating the two dragons guarding the entrance.

What should have been a two-minute recovery mission turned into a drawn-out search on both road and foot. He visited their usual haunts and spent a good chunk of time scouring the shops lining the fashion district, only to come up empty-handed. While a few people had seen him, they could never recall the direction he was headed.

 _How_ was this happening? Malik was out cold and Jounouchi was certain he hadn’t left the room for more than ten minutes. The roads were pitch black and Malik couldn’t even go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without turning on every light in the apartment. Everything about this situation seemed impossible.

A stray thought crossed his mind as he lifted his head, staring numbly at the glowing numbers dotting his dashboard. 

_This_ Malik was scared of the dark. But the other one…

He dug through his bag for his phone, muttering a string of words nasty enough to make a sailor blush. After double checking the time difference, he pulled up Rishid’s number and tapped ‘Call’, trying his best to steady his breathing while he waited. 

What would he even say?

‘Hey, I sort of lost your little brother and, oh, by the way, that other personality of his we all thought was gone? The one that keeps trying to kill you? Yeah, he might still be around. So anyway, how’s work?’ 

The ringing was cut off by a soft click.

“Alo?”

Jounouchi felt the tension in his shoulders melt away. It was amazing how a single word from Rishid was enough to set his mind at ease. No wonder he was Malik’s perfect counter. 

“Hey, Rishid!”

“Jounouchi?” he said in surprise. There was a faint rustling on the other end. “It’s late there, isn’t it?”

“Mm, not really. For university students, this is basically noon.”

Rishid chuckled. “I see. So, what can I help you with?”

“Eh, nothing really. Just wanted to see what you’ve been up to since we last spoke,” Jounouchi said casually, leaning back into his seat. No use charging into the bad news yet. “Y’know, shoot the shit.”

“Mmhm. What’s he done?”

“...What?”

“My brother. What did he do?”

“Nothing! Everything’s been going great, he’s...great.”

“Jounouchi, I don’t wish to offend,” Rishid began, which could only mean he was about to say something rude, “but Malik was, and frankly still is, a talented liar. You, on the other hand, are amateur at best.”

Jounouchi winced. “Ouch big guy, right where it hurts.”

“Please don’t take it personally.”

“Nah, I know you’d never make me feel bad on purpose.”

“Keep thinking that.”

“Huh?”

“Do you need me to talk to him?” Rishid asked, steering their conversation back on track. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to calm him down as best I can over the phone.”

This would’ve been incredibly useful a few hours ago.

“Rishid, you’re a fucking _saint_. I can’t believe you two are related.”

“Technically, we’re not.”

Whoops.

“Right, totally forgot,” Jounouchi said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mal’s actually gone to bed already,” he lied, glancing at his empty passenger’s seat. “But long story short, we had an argument and he flipped out on me. I was wondering if you had any uh…’sage advice’ on how to deal with the aftermath.”

“Of course. But first, I’d like to take partial responsibility for my brother’s behaviour.” Rishid spoke with such genuine sincerity that Jounouchi almost apologised to him for lying. “I’m not sure what he did, however I’m well-aware of what he’s capable of.”

“It’s fine man, no worries.” At least that part was true, other than the bump on his head. “To be honest, it was mostly a lot of yelling.”

“Damage shouldn’t be excused just because it hasn’t left a physical mark.”

“Damn, you’re getting all Yoda on me already?”

“What is ‘Yoda’?” Rishid asked, thoroughly confused. 

Jounouchi snorted. “Forget it. He didn’t say anything I haven’t heard a million times before, so seriously, we’re good.”

“Yet you felt the need to call me in the middle of the night.”

“Because I don’t know what the fuck I did,” Jounouchi moaned, sliding halfway off his seat. “He got all pissy at me for talking shit about my old man and then acted like I’d dug up his dad’s corpse and cu—”

“Jounouchi, I’m in the middle of dinner.”

“Shutting up.”

Rishid sighed. “Well, the good news is that I know what you did wrong.”

“And the bad?”

“You— ...Ah, excuse me for a minute.”

There was a long pause and for a moment Jounouchi was afraid he’d accidentally offended him too. He caught pieces of a faraway conversation that didn’t seem heated, but he could never tell when it came to other languages. Rishid returned to his phone just as Jounouchi began to doze off. 

“My apologies,” he said, sounding a bit winded. “Isis came home from work and needed help carrying some things inside. She’s turned Malik’s bedroom into another storage closet. ...Don’t tell him that.”

“Only if _you_ promise not to tell her about this little chat we’re having,” Jounouchi countered.

“You have my word. I only have so much hair left anyway.”

Jounouchi chuckled weakly as Rishid’s deep, booming laugh crackled through the phone’s speaker. “...Um, not to kill the mood, but could we maybe get back to that bad news?”

“You’re at fault,” he said simply. “Despite his bravado, my brother is quite sensitive when it comes to certain topics; I see you’ve discovered one.”

“I would’ve thought he could relate, y’know? I mean, it’s not like his dad won any Parent of the Year awards either. But the way he spoke about him—”

“You would think that man had done nothing wrong.”

“He’s done this before?” Jounouchi asked, sitting up.

“I know this might be difficult for you to hear, especially considering your own circumstances, but Malik doesn’t hold his father responsible for any of the abuse he’s suffered.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mal’s smart,” Jounouchi insisted. “He knows what his dad did to him. Hell, he snapped because of what the guy almost did to _you_ for fuck’s sake.”

“My brother spent five years doing everything he could to avenge that man, even at the cost of his own sanity,” Rishid said, a fierceness lacing his calm tone. “Is it really so unbelievable that he’d still be in denial over his father’s true character?”

Jounouchi fell silent. He’d forgotten all the chaos Malik caused wasn’t just to free his clan from servitude, but also to avenge his father’s death. At the time, it had been easy to dismiss him as another bad guy they needed to defeat, a maniacal villain that wanted to wreak havoc just because he could.

But that wasn’t right.

Though his anger was woefully misguided, Malik’s motivation was understandable.

“The guilt my brother chooses to bear precedes his actions during Battle City,” Rishid continued, his voice quiet. “When he was a child, the servants in our clan made little effort to hide their resentment. We were punished regularly for minor mistakes, so when Malik complained about his studies, they mocked him. We were told that our existence was worth less than the sand we walked on, so when Malik cried from lack of sleep, he was dismissed as a spoiled brat.” 

Jounouchi licked his lips, recalling Malik’s frantic rambling when confronted with proof of his father’s abusive behaviour.

> _‘I was his favourite. Everyone said so, even when they thought I couldn’t hear them.’_

“My brother learnt that he was not allowed to complain. He wasn’t being beaten or starved like the others, so obviously that meant he had no troubles at all. His father was controlling and treated him more like an object than a son, but surely that was just his unique way of showing love.” Rishid paused. “Is any of this familiar?” 

“Rings a bell or two,” Jounouchi mumbled, looking out the window.

“Even after receiving his scars, he pushed the blame onto a dead pharaoh instead of the man who’d taken the knife to his back.”

“We _definitely_ discussed that one.”

“So, imagine the horror he must have felt to learn that the _first_ target of his other self, the one created from his own hatred and resentment—”

“—was his so-called ‘loving’ father.” Jounouchi finished, eyes wide.  
  


* * *

  
Seto plucked a box of baking soda from Malik’s hands and placed it on top of his stainless-steel refrigerator, staring directly at him as he slid it away from reach. “That isn’t food.”

“Then why was it in the fridge?”

“To keep it from smelling bad.”

“I don’t think it’s working,” Malik said, scrunching his nose.

He continued to scour the contents of Seto’s refrigerator, shoving aside anything that vaguely resembled a vegetable. Eventually, he emerged with a bottle of drinkable Greek yoghurt, some grapes, and a few wedges of goat cheese. A surprisingly posh selection, Seto noted.

He watched the other Malik saunter casually towards their breakfast nook, already eating a few grapes straight from the stem. He tossed his other items carelessly onto the table, sitting with a noticeable slouch as he fiddled with the cheese’s packaging.

Seto couldn’t help but feel intrigued; despite this Malik being a warped extension of the original, their mannerisms were completely different.

Neither of them seemed to be a fan of large meals, however.

With a tired sigh, Seto grabbed a day-old baguette from the counter. 

“Has no one ever taught you to eat properly?” he asked, gathering the pieces of Malik’s ‘dinner’ and setting them neatly onto a plate.

“No,” Malik said bluntly. Seto realised that this Malik probably didn’t get to do the whole ‘eating’ thing very often. 

“I’m pretty sure all you need to do is put the food in your mouth and swallow.”

“What about chewing?"

“Optional. Ever tried chewing orange juice, dragonfucker?”

Seto rolled his eyes. “Drinks aren’t food.”

“Then why are they in the fridge?”

“Not everything inside a refrigerator is food and not everything outside a refrigerator _isn’t_ food.”

“Sounds fake.”

Seto slipped the baguette out of its paper bag, showing Malik the end that was already cut. “This wasn’t in the refrigerator. Are you going to claim it isn’t food?”

The blond shrugged. “Your stupid ass probably forgot to put it in there.”

“Are you capable of holding a conversation without insulting the other person?”

“Are _you?_ ”

“I’m required to, unfortunately,” Seto said, crossing his arms. 

“Sucks to be you then,” Malik mumbled, using his teeth to tear the foil from the goat cheese. He looked from the wedge to the loaf and back; Seto could practically hear the gears in his head churning.

“Isn’t there usually something to put this thing,” he pointed to the cheese, “on that thing?” then at the baguette.

“You really think I’m going to give you a knife after you tried to gut me with a fountain pen?”

“Yes? You’re the one who brought the bread.”

“Because for some reason you insist on eating like a mouse. Both of you.”

“Should I just dip the fucking bread into my cheese then?”

“Figure it out,” Seto said, tapping a finger impatiently against his arm. “Is it safe enough for your other self to come out yet?” 

Malik ripped off a sizable chunk from the baguette, showering the table with crumbs. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a tall freak that keeps watching us eat. Might be a pervert. Think I’ll break his nose if he doesn’t fuck off.”

“Forgive me for wanting to make sure you didn’t destroy my kitchen too.”

“You’re forgiven, now go away,” Malik said, waving him off like an unneeded servant. 

Seto was tempted to continue standing there to assert his dominance, but agreed that it was a bit creepy to watch someone while they ate. He walked over to the stove and brought out everything he needed to make himself a quick cup of espresso, grimly accepting that he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. There was no way he was going to allow Malik to wander his mansion unsupervised in this state. He had half a mind to phone Jounouchi and force him to deal with this mess, since their fight was apparently what caused Malik’s mind to refuck itself.

He mixed a teaspoon of turbinado sugar into his cup and took a sip, the scalding liquid burning as it made its way down his throat. What if the real Malik never came back? They were scheduled to interview artisans for the attraction’s design work next Monday; he couldn’t finish this thing with someone who couldn’t grasp the purpose of a refrigerator.

The other Malik had been annoyingly vague explaining their conditions for a switch. What exactly constituted a ‘safe’ environment? Food and shelter was covered, but that alone didn’t seem to be enough. He surveyed the immediate area for any clues, hoping the solution would be simpler than it sounded.

Maybe addressing the cut on Malik’s forehead would help. It made sense that having dried blood smeared on your face didn’t feel ‘safe’. Seto was starting to regret hitting him so hard, but considering he was almost strangled to death, Malik should consider it a blessing he hadn’t done worse. 

With a soft huff, Seto made his way into a nearby bathroom, digging through its medicine cabinet to retrieve an unused first-aid kit. While the injury was bloody, it shouldn’t need more than a basic dressing. He had little faith that the other Malik knew about anything that involved _healing_ a wound, but he was willing to suck up his pride and dress the thing himself if it meant bringing the blond back to normal.

Seto stalked back to the dining area, a spare pillow tucked under his arm just in case this Malik shared any of the overdramatic tendencies his other self did. He’d lost count of how many times Malik complained the office chairs were too uncomfortable for him to think.

When he reached the breakfast nook, he found that Malik had hollowed out his section of the baguette and filled it with goat cheese, creating something that looked suspiciously similar to the appetisers offered at the mixer Seto attended.

Malik was playing with the discarded cap of his yoghurt drink, flicking it from hand to hand. He paused when he noticed Seto approach, once again adopting a guarded posture.

“What?” he growled, still gnawing on the rim of his bottle.

“I brought you a pillow.”

“...Why?”

“It’s soft.”

“So?”

“Soft things are generally known to be safe,” Seto said simply, petting the cushion as if it were a lumpy cat.

Malik stared at him for a long while before slowly scooting away.

Great, that failed.

Time for Plan B. 

Seto retrieved his first-aid kit and brought it to the cluttered table, sweeping aside the breadcrumbs before popping it open. Malik watched him warily, his hand inching closer to the crunchy remnants of his baguette.

“Do you know how to use these?” Seto asked, holding up a roll of gauze bandages and a packet of antiseptic wipes. “They’re for your cut. I don’t think Ishtar would appreciate another scar, much less one on his face.”

Malik smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

He picked up the gauze and gave it an experimental squeeze, eyes narrowing at its unfamiliar texture. Tugging lightly at the loose end, Malik wound the material through his fingers, lips pressed into a pout painfully reminiscent of his other self.

“I’ve seen this stuff before,” he said, observing how the ceiling lights filtered through the fabric. “I think. I don’t remember it being so stretchy.”

“Are you sure you aren’t thinking about toilet paper?”

Malik shot him an ugly look. 

“Go to the bathroom and use these to clean up the blood,” Seto said, nudging the packet closer. “Then put a cotton ball on the cut and use the gauze to keep it in place. Does that sound easy enough?”

“Are you gonna follow me there to make sure I don’t eat the soap?” Malik asked dully.

“I wasn’t going to, but now that you’ve brought it up—”

“You realise I know more than His Majesty does, right? Stop treating me like an idiot.”

Seto scoffed. “I had to explain the mechanics of _eating_ to you.”

“Food isn’t really something you think about when you don’t have a body to consume it with.”

“And yet you expect me to believe you’re smarter than the real Ish—”

Seto was having a host of new and unwanted experiences that night, but he hadn’t expected getting whacked in the face with a stale baguette to be one of them. 

“Condescending piece of shit,” Malik said, the loaf’s remains crumbling to pieces in his hand. “You’re no better than the Rat King.”

“Rat King?”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he spat, shoving past Seto with the dressing materials clenched in his fist.

“Second door opposite the pantry,” Seto called after him, rubbing his cheek. He’d been meaning to remodel that one anyway. 

After making sure Malik had gone where he was supposed to, Seto took out his phone and scrolled through his extensive contact list, forgetting whether he’d logged Jounouchi’s number under his actual name or something more creative.

There was no way he was going to continue dealing with this Malik on his own, even if it meant allowing the personification of ‘unwashed masses’ into his house. As far as he was concerned, this mess was Jounouchi’s fault and he was going to be the one to clean it up.

Seto held the phone away from his ear as soon as the line picked up, already anticipating a less than friendly response.

“Kaiba? Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the fucking—”

“Shut up and get over here right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: strangulation, blood, implied/referenced self-harm, excessive swearing** — ...It’s a Yami Malik chapter [shrugs].
> 
> I have some pretty lengthy headcanons on his existence post-canon, but I didn’t want to clutter the author’s notes with them ^^; If you’re interested in my thoughts, check out my write up [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MNt-CvbL5Ms6oYnOot_kwNmhZgQpukeuZXuyHJOe0SQ/edit?usp=sharing)! (Please turn off Print Layout under the View tab if you read it on desktop; there’s an awkward gap before the last section otherwise.)
> 
> Anyway! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed it ^^ Kudos, comments, and any thoughts are always appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for possible triggers; note that this may lead to chapter spoilers.

“Since when the hell do I take orders from you?” Jounouchi asked, crawling into the passenger's side to peer up at the building. He wouldn't be surprised if Seto was up there in his cushy office glaring down at his car.

At 2:00AM on a Sunday, no less. 

“Since your argument with Ishtar was evidently so asinine it broke his brain in half. Again.”

Jounouchi bumped his head against the rear-view mirror and winced, ruling out the possibility that this was all a very drawn-out nightmare. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Ishtar's here.”

“'Here' where?”

The exasperation in Seto's sigh was magnified over the phone. “At my _house,_ you idiot. Where else would 'here' be?”

“The fuck should I know? That's why I asked!” Jounouchi took in a deep breath to clear his head. As grating as Seto was to deal with, at least Malik hadn't been knocked into another reality by a runaway delivery truck. “How'd he get there? Your place is a couple minutes out of the city, right?”

“I think Mokuba might have offered him a ride; he went to the movies tonight.”

Jounouchi bit his lip. “That place isn't too far from the apartment.”

“What exactly were you two arguing about? I'm not looking to step on the same landmine,” Seto said, a light tapping audible from his end. “I couldn't get anything out of the other Ishtar when I asked.”

“...'Other' Ishtar?”

“Are you a parrot? Do you just repeat what someone says and expect the conversation to progress? I'm starting to see why he went crazy.” 

“Define 'crazy',” Jounouchi said, hurriedly jamming his keys into the ignition. “Like is he mad pissed or—”

“No.”

“So by 'other' him you mean—”

“I mean the Malik Ishtar that tried to roast you like a raw chicken, yes.”

Jounouchi yanked the gear lever into Drive. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“How the hell are you alive?” he asked, pulling out of the KaibaCorp lot; luckily, there wasn't much traffic this late at night.

“Dumb luck and Ishtar's terrible eating habits,” Seto said, sounding oddly amused. “Anyway, I need you to fix whatever it is you did so he'll go back to normal.”

“ _Me?_ I don't know how that shit works!”

“Well, find out. He and I are interviewing for an important position on Monday and I'd prefer to have the one I hired present.”

Jounouchi swerved to avoid a stray dog ambling across the road, nearly taking out a mailbox. “ _That's_ what you're worried about?”

“Yes. Why else would I care? The rest of this nonsense is between you two.”

“Jackass,” Jounouchi grumbled, turning into a side street to avoid the crowded shopping district.

“Apparently things need to feel 'safe' before they'll switch,” Seto continued. “I have no idea what that means, so do me a favour and use that little peanut brain of yours to think of something on the way here.”

Jounouchi grinned. “Did I hear that right? Mister multi-billionaire genius is asking the peasantry for help?”

“I'm telling you to clean up your mess.”

“Because you can't figure it out on your own.”

“Considering none of this is my problem, I shouldn't have to. _You're_ the one who—”

Jounouchi could hear someone else on Seto's end, though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Seto gave a curt reply before his words became muffled, a soft buzz signalling that he'd covered the mic.

His grip on the wheel tightened, the weight of their situation starting to sink in. All this time he'd banked on Malik's other self being a thing of the past, an unpleasant memory that only resurfaced during the occasional nightmare. But if Seto was telling the truth, then he could very well be driving straight into a life-or-death situation.

And this time, they didn't have a magical, undead pharaoh to save them.

If the other voice he'd heard was Malik's broken half, did that mean Seto was talking to him right now? Could that thing hold a conversation without threatening to string someone's entrails over the walls like bunting? 

Then there was Malik. The _actual_ Malik. What was going to happen to him? Was he safe to be around? Would he be forced to resign? Move out? Go home?

> _'You trust me, right?'_

Jounouchi's jaw clenched as his foot ground into the gas pedal, his car surging forward with a low growl. He wasn't going to give up that easily. Things were going to be different this time. Without the Millennium Rod, his other personality was just another smartass punk with a bad attitude. He'd dealt with guys like that before and had the scars to prove it. 

He was so busy hyping himself up for a potential fight that he hadn't even noticed Seto return to the call.

“—to keep him occupied. Let me know when you get here and I’ll open the main gates,” he said, hanging up before Jounouchi could reply.   
  


* * *

  
Malik pushed back his fringe, inspecting the cut with a critical eye that only someone well-versed in lacerations would possess. The blood definitely made things look worse than they were, however the injury was hardly anything to write home about. While he doubted there would be a noticeable scar, he figured he might as well clean up so Seto would stop acting so weird.

The fluorescent lights made the bathroom feel surreal, their cool glow giving Malik's skin an almost sickly appearance in the mirror. He worked quietly, annoyed that Seto thought him too stupid to know how to use bandages. 

There was a sharp sting every time he ran the cotton ball over his cut, reminding him again and again that he'd finally regained control of the body he'd unfairly lost. He didn't know how long this would last, or if he'd ever get another chance to front, but Rishid's absence made thinking much easier.

He held the antiseptic wipe over the wound, relishing in the fact that he could _feel_ things again. People often took pain for granted, but even that was preferable to being an unheard whisper. While Atem's penalty hadn't erased him completely, his influence over the main personality was completely lost. Being forced to watch the 'real' Malik stumbling his way through what should have been his life was a punishment in itself.

His dominant half was a silly, fragile little thing with memories so full of holes that the slightest push was enough to shatter his psyche. One would think that since he remembered their life better than his other self, _he_ would be more qualified to call himself Malik Ishtar. 

It wasn't fair.

All the thoughts and feelings Malik refused to deal with were inevitably pushed onto him. How was he expected to process them when his other self couldn't, despite supposedly having a full palette of emotions at his disposal? Everything that was thrown at him was met with either violence or anger, which apparently was a big no-no to normal people.

What did they expect? What was he supposed to do? Why was he being held to a different standard? Why did he have to endure everyone treating him like a mindless monster while his weaker half got to be a cute bobblehead everyone felt sorry for?

...Not that he wanted anyone's pity.

Malik dug through his pockets and took out a spare hair tie, pulling his hair into a high ponytail before sorting through the different plaster options in the first-aid kit. Malik had no idea why Seto initially handed him gauze; he had a cut, not a knife wound. 

He was comparing the two largest sizes when Seto's voice drifted in from outside, breaking the comfortable silence. Malik peeled off the backing on the adhesive strip and glanced over his shoulder. Who was he talking to? 

_“What exactly were you two arguing about?”_

...Jounouchi? How convenient. Now he wouldn't have to waste his time going back to the apartment to deal with him.

Malik smoothed the bandage over his cut and brushed his fringe back into place, smirking at his reflection. As adorable as his main personality could be, he'd always thought he wore their body better.

He grabbed the kit and clicked it shut, tossing it up like an unwieldy ball as he made his way to the door. A mess of crumpled wrappers was left by the sink. 

“—have to. _You're_ the one who—”

“Are we having a party?” Malik asked, enjoying the rare panic on Seto's face. He held a grudge against the young CEO for causing the Millennium Rod to misbehave at the most inopportune moments. Not to mention his meddling during the final duel by giving Atem that stupid card.

“That was quick,” Seto said, holding his thumb over the phone's mic.

“Aww, did I not give you enough time to call for reinforcements?”

“I wasn't—”

“Don't lie to me, dragonfucker.” Malik threw the box onto a nearby table where it landed with a loud clatter. “Guess I'll hop back inside and pretend to touch up our makeup.”

“Wait.”

He paused, rapping his nails against the doorknob. 

“The mutt’s coming.” Seto held up his phone, its speaker still blocked. “I want to see if talking to him will do the other you any good.”

“It's his fault we switched in the first place, idiot.”

“Exactly.”

Malik raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe you need to let off some steam,” Seto said, nodding towards his ruined guest room. 

It took a moment for Malik to understand the implication, partly because Seto had been needlessly vague, mostly because it sounded too good to be true.

“You invited him here so I could kill him?” he asked incredulously. This was... _not_ usually how things went for him.

“No, not _kill;_ I don't have the patience to oversee another cover up.”

Another?

“I don't exactly understand what's going on with you...two,” he continued, “but from what I've gathered, you were allowed to come back because you felt the other Malik was in some kind of danger, correct?”

“I don't care about—”

“It doesn't matter whether or not you care about each other. Objectively speaking, the switching seems to be a defensive function based on perceived threats. He feels threatened, you front so he can avoid the confrontation.”

“So he can _hide,_ ” Malik corrected, his lip curling into a snarl.

"Same idea. Either way, if the mutt has to get knocked around for you to feel better, then that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"How selfless of you."

"Practicality comes at a price."

"An easy thing to say when you aren't the one paying it."

The whole thing was suspect. Hadn't Mokuba told his other self that his brother wasn't as heartless as everyone thought? This had to be a set up. He hadn't heard the first part of the call — for all he knew, Seto had asked Jounouchi to show up with a metal pipe.

Or worse, a photo of Rishid.

Gross.

Well. Two could play at that game. If both of them wanted his main personality to wake up so badly, maybe he could manage to force him out long enough to see his roommate and boss ready to beat him to a pulp. What was another traumatic event to add to the pile?

"Do you want to see our game room?" Seto asked, his voice closer than it was seconds before.

Malik was startled from his musings, but masked his surprise, offering an apathetic shrug.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's an ‘I don't care’." He frowned. "Aren't you worried I'll break something?"

"I'm betting on it. Most of the newer machines in there are Mokuba's and he needs to learn not to bring anymore strays home," Seto said, already leading the way.

"We're strays now?" Malik asked, following him out of both curiosity and boredom.

"What else would I call you? You ran away from home and he picked you up."

"If His Majesty could hear you—"

"He can't. You've made that abundantly clear. Speaking of which." Seto stopped halfway up the stairs. "Why do you call him that if you hate him?"

"Because I realised 'Mister Main Personality' was a mouthful. And he _is_ royalty, you know. To an underground cult of glorified slaves, sure, but details, details."

"I noticed you've conveniently excluded yourself from that responsibility."

"The eldest son holds that title. Technically, I was born after."

"Would that make Ishtar your older brother then?" Seto asked with a smirk.

Malik pulled a face. He wasn't sure why the thought of having any sort of familial relation to his other self felt so disgusting. Probably because if he ever relied on him as much as his other self relied on Rishid, they'd wind up dead in a ditch with all their organs missing.

They walked down the same hallway that led to the wrecked guest room, this time stopping by the first door in the row. Seto tested the knob before opening it, revealing an arcade that somehow rivalled the selection of BIG WEB in less than half the space. There was even a counter near the back where one could exchange game tokens for prizes.

Seto flipped on the light switch, turning on a few of the surrounding machines. “I don't know if everything's plugged in, but all the games should be functional. We had them upgraded a few months ago.” 

“This is a private arcade,” Malik said, sounding slightly put out. “A game room implies cigar smoke and dead animals on the walls.”

“That's actually how it looked before we renovated. It was too opium den for our tastes.” He moved aside and gestured for Malik to step in. “Guests first.”

Malik didn't budge. “Why? So you can lock me in there?”

“Someone's paranoid.”

“You would be too if you knew everyone wanted to get rid of you.” 

Seto scoffed. “Are you seriously trying to get me to feel sorry for you?”

“Am I wrong?” Malik asked, leaning against the door frame. “This is either a distraction or a way to keep me out of your hair until the cavalry arrives.”

“I wouldn't be so intent on doing so if you hadn't already destroyed my house.”

“You're not denying it.”

Seto stared at him with an odd expression before looking away. “You're smarter than I thought you'd be.”

“Maybe you're just stupider than you think you are.”

“I'm willing to entertain either theory.”

Malik's eyes narrowed. He was used to dealing with people who wore their hearts on their sleeve; Seto was proving to be another challenge entirely. Nothing seemed to faze him — any threat was brushed off as a minor inconvenience, and he was apparently fine with others getting maimed as long as he got what he wanted in the end.

Had the Royal Parasite really allowed someone this callous within his inner circle? What made Seto any different than himself or the Rat King?

Either he was being played for a fool or Mokuba had lied. He wasn't a fan of either option.

“Play against me,” Malik said, flicking Seto's ear before wandering inside. “Now.”

Seto blinked. “Come again?”

“We never got to duel each other during Battle City, did we? It always bugged me.” He circled around an obnoxiously loud fighting game. “You made the Millennium Rod malfunction and I never got to punish you for it.”

"You’re astoundingly confident for someone who's never touched a video game."

“...You don't know that.”

“If Ishtar's never played one, I doubt you have,” Seto said mockingly. “By the way, I don't mean to brag, but my scores on BIG WEB's machines haven’t been topped, and it's been six years since I've bothered visiting that place.”

Malik hummed, tapping his finger against the fighting game's cabinet. “I was actually going to ask if you had an air hockey table.”

“How do _you_ know what air hockey is?”

“There was one in the museum's breakroom; His Majesty would play against his co-workers between shifts. He wasn't very good,” Malik admitted, “but considering I'm better than him at most things, I'm sure this won't be an exception.”

“And why are you assuming I'll agree to this?” Seto asked, crossing his arms.

“Because if you don't, you'll have to live with the fact that Jounouchi Katsuya was willing to challenge me knowing he would die, but _you_ were too much of a coward to play a no-stakes game with me to kill time.”

From the look on Seto’s face, you would think Malik just spat gum into his mouth. He turned on his heel without a word, heading towards the far end of the large room. Malik followed him with a knowing smile, basking in the glow of his small victory. Maybe he wasn't so hard to read after all.

Like everything else in the mansion, the air hockey tables put the one in Isis's museum to shame. That heap of plastic and metal probably existed well before either Malik was even born, its surface so beaten and scratched that it wasn't uncommon for the puck to get snagged in the middle of a game. In contrast, Seto's machine actually had a thin cushion of air running over the table, keeping it pristine. 

Suddenly, the name 'air' hockey made a lot more sense.

“Best two out of three,” Seto said, pulling off his peacoat and setting it neatly onto the floor. He rolled his sleeves up before sliding Malik the second paddle, keeping the blue one for himself. “No practice rounds.”

“Fifteen points to win?” Malik asked, flexing his fingers before wrapping them loosely around the nubby handle. He begrudgingly thanked his other self for choosing not to wear any bracelets that day; those things could be horribly restrictive.

“Doesn't matter if it’s fifteen or fifty; you'll lose.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Save the dick swinging for someone who gives a shit.”

“Your funeral,” Seto sneered, casting the first serve.

Their play styles were equally aggressive. Malik recalled the mistakes his other self made during previous matches; he focused so much effort on strategy that any play that went against his plans threw him off for the rest of the game. He'd always start off with an impressive lead, however once his opponent recognised his move patterns, they'd adjust their tactics while he'd stubbornly stick to his guns. Usually, this ended in his defeat.

But spontaneous plays were where _this_ Malik excelled. What good was a detailed plan if it couldn't be modified to fit more than a handful of situations? If there was something barring your way to victory, there was no point in trying to work around it when the same result could be accomplished through brute force.

“It seems you _do_ know how to play,” Seto said, narrowly blocking the puck from entering his goal. The thin disc ricocheted off the walls in a swift zig-zag pattern, slipping into Malik's slot with a satisfying 'ding'. “Good. It always feels better winning against someone who's actually competent.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself, dragonfucker. I've only had this body for a few hours — I'm still getting used to it.”

“You better not use that excuse when you lose.”

Malik fired off the second serve. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

And so, the game continued, their verbal back and forth matching the quick pace of the game. Consecutive points called for particularly scathing taunts, though both players refused to show any sign of being bothered. Malik was honestly shocked at how well he was doing; either the game was easier than he thought or Seto was going easy on him, and he was fairly certain Seto would sooner lick the bottom of Jounouchi's shoe than play badly on purpose. 

Unfortunately for Seto, Malik discovered a way to inflict physical injury from afar and was actually racking up a decent number of points using his new favourite tactic. 

They were tied at 12 each when Seto dropped his paddle.

“Are you purposefully aiming for my fingers?”

“Took you long enough,” Malik grinned, flashing pointed canines. 

Seto shook his head before serving. “I should’ve known this wouldn’t be clean.”

“Hey, a win’s a win.”

“Normally I’d agree, but you said yourself this game had nothing at stake.”

That piqued Malik’s interest. “Oho? What sort of stakes would justify playing dirty?” 

“Nothing that would apply to you, I’m sure.”

“Try me.”

“Why? Are you going to retroactively apply them to this match to win my house’s soul, or whatever?” he asked, scoring his thirteenth point.

“Who the fuck would want this place? It’s too big."

“Heh. You really aren’t Ishtar, are you?” 

Malik tilted his head quizzically. Hadn’t he been saying that for the past hour? For someone widely lauded as a genius, Seto was rather slow on the uptake.

“The Millennium Items are gone; I couldn’t force you into a penalty game even if I wanted to.”

“I might be inclined to give you a hint if you beat me.”

“Wouldn’t that add a stake to our game?”

“It isn’t one of the ones on my list,” Seto said dully. 

Malik huffed and scored another point, bringing them back to a tie. At least now he had an incentive to win beyond bragging rights. 

The already heated battle turned vicious. Though Seto had considerable reach, Malik had the upper hand on speed and hadn’t abandoned his attempts to leave all of Seto’s fingers bruised. Both players were dripping in sweat despite the AC running at full blast, their snide jabs falling by the wayside as the game demanded their full attention. Malik scored his fourteenth point first, but Seto immediately followed up with his own just three exchanges into the next round.

During the mad dash for the last point, Malik’s paddle slipped from his grasp after an especially strong hit, leaving him scrambling to get it back. Seto knew a winning opportunity when he saw one and dove onto the table to swipe the puck while the goal was left unguarded. However, instead of retrieving his discarded paddle, Malik slid it across the table's surface, successfully blocking the puck's path and sending it back towards Seto's side of the arena; it bounced off his elbow and neatly fell into his goal. 

Seto’s mouth fell open at the final ding, his gaze swivelling from Malik’s fanged smile to the overhead scoreboard where a pixelated Black Magician was giving the winner a thumbs up. “That doesn’t count—”

“That totally counts, dragonfucker.” 

“You can’t _throw_ the paddle!”

“Pretty sure you can’t climb onto the table either,” Malik countered. “So we’re even and _I win._ ”

“Not yet,” Seto said, dabbing the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “We have two more games to play.”

“Answer my question first.”

“You haven’t won.”

Malik snickered at Seto’s deepening scowl. “You never said I had to win the whole thing; you said I had to beat you. And I did.”

After nearly a full minute of seething, Seto heaved a sigh, stretching his fingers as he begrudgingly returned to his side of the table. Malik slid the puck to him with a smirk, rolling his shoulders back until he heard a satisfying pop. The wings carved into his shoulder blades mirrored their movement, an unpleasantly tight sensation tugging at the base of his neck. He bit his tongue to hold back a wince.

“Disregarding the rules is perfectly acceptable in three situations,” Seto began, starting the second game with an easy serve. “The first is when your opponent’s already cheated; I think we can both agree on that one.”

Malik nodded, his eyes trained onto the meandering disc. 

“The second is if you stand to gain something life-changing by winning.”

“But what’s life-changing to you could mean nothing to someone else,” Malik argued, failing to block Seto’s return hit. “What a useless qualifier.”

Seto chuckled. “That’s the point. _You_ have to decide whether an opportunity is worth sacrificing your integrity over. Someone like Yuugi would probably roll over dead if it meant upholding his ideals. You and I seem more flexible in that respect.”

“And here I thought you’d be insulted having something in common with me.”

“It’s a bit sobering, I won’t lie,” he said, scoring his second point.

Seto checked his phone after a sharp beep sounded, tapping out a message before slipping it back into his pocket. Malik grumbled as he retrieved the puck, spinning it between his fingers before serving.

“What’s the third situation?”

“It would probably make even less sense to you.”

“So?”

“You’re getting distracted.”

“You answered a text,” Malik growled, gaining his first point after an aggressive spike.

Seto simply smiled, which only succeeded in pissing him off even further. Forget fingers; Malik was going to start launching the puck at his face. 

“The final situation is when the life of a loved one is on the line,” Seto said after an extended silence. “In fact, I think that would almost necessitate cheating, regardless of how confident you were in your abilities. I’m surprised the mutt didn’t try anything while duelling you to rescue that blonde woman. Then again,” a third point, “without your modifications, he would’ve won."

Malik shot him a venomous glare from across the table.

“Did I touch a nerve?”

“No; you’re just wrong,” he said, scoring his second point in a single, clean hit. “About everything.”

If those were the three instances that justified breaking the rules, then why did their sister hate him so much? He could apply each of them to the family ‘tragedy’ without even trying. 

“How so?” Seto asked.

Malik slammed his paddle on top of the puck, stopping it right before it slid into his goal. “What do you know of His Majesty’s parents?”

Seto shrugged. “He’s never mentioned them and neither has your sister. I assumed they were dead.”

“And you’d be right. His mother died shortly after he was born.” He sent the puck back with a vicious return, earning a third point. “And I killed his father.”

Something flickered within Seto’s blue eyes. Malik watched him carefully for any sign of fear or disgust, finding nothing other than his usual mask of disinterest.

“My reasons align perfectly with everything you mentioned, and everyone still thinks I did something wrong. So your list is bullshit.”

“Well, murdering someone is a little different than cheating,” Seto said, though Malik had a feeling he didn’t fully believe what he was saying.

“He wanted to kill us. The Ishtar bloodline would’ve ended that day if I hadn’t done it,” he argued. “Retaliation and the preservation of life; those were the first and third bullets on your list. His death allowed us to crawl out of that miserable hole and eventually led us to your stupid tournament. A new opportunity — your second point.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Seto said evenly, turning his attention back to the game. “It’s just laughable that you’d think people would applaud you for killing their father.”

“Our sister hated him. His Majesty won’t admit he does, but my existence is proof that he’s in denial.”

“The most solid evidence I’ve ever seen.”

“Then why do they act like I’ve done something unforgivable?” he asked, anger and confusion lacing his words. “I don’t get it.”

Seto scored another point. “Taking someone’s life is generally seen as unforgivable, regardless of the motivation.”

“Even if the end results were... _mostly_ good?”

“Unfortunately.”

For whatever reason, that single word was enough to shake Malik to his core. Hopelessness was a foreign concept to him, but it was something his other half struggled with when things began falling out of his control. It was a useless emotion that served no one in the end, and yet there was no other way to describe the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest.

This shouldn’t bother him. _Why_ was it bothering him? 

His gaze fell to the white puck awaiting his next move, his vision blurring as a strange wetness trailed down his cheeks. Malik shook as unhinged cackling spilled from his lips, his relative calm giving way to the familiar crazed behaviour he’d displayed during Battle City. 

Seto swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat, his eyes darting to the room’s only exit.

“So I should’ve let him kill us, is that it!?” Malik spat.

“I never said—” The puck raced towards his goal at a painful speed; he barely managed to send it back with all his fingers intact.

“Because if I had the chance, I'd kill that fucking bastard again—”

Smack.

“—and again—”

Smack.

“—and _again—_ ”

Smack.

“ ** _—and again._** ”

Malik’s last strike sent the disc flying directly at Seto’s face. Though the dark haze clouding his mind made it difficult to think, the thought of causing someone pain was still disgustingly cathartic. Why should he be the only one to feel this way? Besides, Seto was rich; he could buy new incisors.

However, because Malik was doomed to be Fate’s hapless plaything, he couldn’t even have the satisfaction of knocking someone’s teeth in. Without flinching, Seto caught the puck between his middle and index finger; apparently his freakish reflexes applied to more than trading cards.

“What do you want, a medal?” he asked coolly, tossing it back onto the table. “Am I supposed to be impressed? I would’ve done the same thing if it meant saving my little brother. What kind of father would want to kill his own children?”

Malik’s laboured breathing staggered to a halt, his unfocused eyes slowly meeting Seto’s frigid blue.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Malik.”  
  


* * *

> **Rich Bitch** **  
> ** **[2:37]** _Gates should be opening now. Make sure they close again once you go through._ _  
> _ **[2:37]** _The code is 1139._

The manor’s driveway was marred with fresh tire marks as Jounouchi’s car squealed to a stop. He rushed out and began rummaging through his trunk for anything that could be used as a weapon, settling on an old baseball bat he’d meant to throw away months ago. The poor thing was seconds away from splintering, but Jounouchi was confident one hit was all he needed to send that bloodthirsty bastard to his knees.

He raced up the stone steps and located the door’s semi-hidden keypad, hurriedly punching in the four-digit code. Jounouchi shoved his way inside as soon as he heard the locks click, scanning the darkened foyer for any movement. The house was deathly silent save for the sound of his own footsteps, which wouldn’t have been too unusual if it weren’t for the fact that a murderer was roaming the halls.

What if he was too late? What if the Kaiba brothers were already dead and Malik’s other self was watching him from the shadows, waiting for his chance to strike? Seto’s texts came five minutes ago; was that enough time for him to die? Jounouchi squeezed the grip around the bat’s handle, bits of old foam crumbling to the ground. 

A peal of mad laughter drew his attention towards the second floor, the voice unmistakable in all the wrong ways. Though it was distorted beyond imagination, he could hear Malik’s soothing tone buried beneath the mess of crackling insanity. Jounouchi felt sick. Was this his fault? Had he really caused Malik to turn back into this monster?

A muffled exchange followed, stirring Jounouchi from his thoughts.

Seto was still alive — there was still time. 

He bolted up the staircase, his breath coming in ragged gasps. There was a loud crash followed by a scream that sent a frigid chill down his spine. Though his legs were stiff from sitting for so long, Jounouchi urged himself to keep running, following the noise towards a wide hallway. He heard Seto behind the first door and wasted no time in busting it open, brandishing the bat as he ran inside.

Jounouchi walked quickly but quietly through the rows of arcade games, straining his ears against the cacophony of sound. Seto's low timbre stood out amongst the noise and Jounouchi carefully followed it towards the back of the room, keeping a lookout for any sign of the other Malik.

He found Seto crouched by a far corner, muttering in the softest tone Jounouchi had ever heard him speak. It wasn't until he came closer that he realised Malik was with him, back pressed against the wall and looking utterly terrified. Seto attempted to talk to him again, but whatever he’d said only caused Malik to withdraw even more.

Jounouchi sighed. Of all the people he had to end up with, it had to be the guy who couldn’t empathise his way out of a paper bag. Great.

Seto glanced back and briefly acknowledged Jounouchi’s arrival, though his relief rapidly turned to irritation.

“Put that down and _do something,_ ” he hissed.

"Which one—"

"It doesn't matter, he's shut down completely. I don't even think he recognises me."

"What the hell did you do!?"

"Nothing. We were playing air hockey."

The bat fell to the floor with a hollow thunk. "You _what?_ "

"What? He wanted to," Seto said defensively. 

Jounouchi bit back some choice words and knelt down, finding himself in the same position from earlier that evening. Malik was conscious, but unresponsive, his blank eyes staring vacantly at the hideous carpet.

Even with the extra context he'd gleaned from Rishid, he had no idea how to coax Malik out of an episode without bringing his siblings into the equation. However, he knew that directly involving them, Isis especially, could bring Malik’s time in Japan to an abrupt end.

Was it for the best? He doubted Rishid would think any less of him for giving up; he knew more than anyone how difficult his little brother could be. Hell, maybe after a few years of therapy he might be able to come back and try again.

But the thought of Malik going home left him oddly cold. 

"I'm not mad," he said, grabbing Malik's shoulders and giving him a firm shake. “Are you listening? Mal, I'm not mad at you. You were right, it was my fault; I should've shut up the first time you told me to."

Seto snorted. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Stuff it smartass, I don’t see _you_ coming up with—”

“You mean it?”

The argument fizzled out before it began as their attention shot back to Malik. He looked disoriented, like he was trying to figure out whether or not they were actually in front of him. Jounouchi wondered if the alternative was something he regularly struggled with. Malik never really talked about these things, but he supposed he’d never bothered to ask. Then again, would Malik ever admit to anything that made him less than perfect? 

“Of course!” Jounouchi said earnestly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Huh? I don’t—”

“I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I wanted you dead. Hate me.”

Jounouchi shook his head. “You’re not like that anymore Mal.”

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re not!”

"I am."

“Ishtar, listen to him,” Seto said, fixing Jounouchi with a sharp glare. “This is one of two instances where the broken clock is right.”

"Fucking really, Kaiba?"

"No more questions please; this is a very difficult time for me."

“You’ll live, drama queen,” he said flatly. 

A light tug drew his gaze downwards and Jounouchi found himself drowning in glassy lilac eyes.

He wished the universe would stop reminding him of how stunningly attractive Malik was. He’d gotten the message the first half-dozen times he caught a glimpse of Malik just...existing. The glimmer in his eyes when he got to an exciting chapter in his book, the curve of his body as he lounged in bed, the way his nose crinkled when he laughed. Even now, with his mind clouded in insanity, Jounouchi thought he was beautiful. 

“Are you real?” he asked quietly, running his thumb over Jounouchi’s lower lip.

Jounouchi kept still as Malik’s hands roamed his face, brow furrowed in concentration. Seto looked on passively, making no move to help either of them out of their awkward situation. He could only guess what the other Malik put him through before he’d arrived; Jounouchi couldn’t blame him for choosing to sit this one out.

“I’m here,” he said, gently guiding Malik’s hand over his chest. “See? I’ve got a heartbeat and everything.”

“You’re warm.”

Jounouchi chuckled. “Yeah, that too.”

Malik stared at him curiously, the tension in his shoulders slowly ebbing away. Before any more could be said, he leant forward, thin fingers hooking onto Jounouchi's silver necklace as he nuzzled affectionately into the crook of his neck.

Jounouchi froze. Even Seto was shocked into silence.

“Mal?” His voice cracked as it snagged in this throat. “You okay?”

He was answered with a faint mumble as Malik shifted under his arms and cuddled closer, like a large cat seeking somewhere safe to curl up. After a bit of shifting, Malik finally settled against Jounouchi’s broad chest, his head resting comfortably beneath his chin as he slowly drifted off to sleep. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Jounouchi whispered, a deep blush burning across his cheeks. 

He kept a hand on Malik’s lower back to keep him from slipping, watching his bare shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath. The raised lines of Malik’s scars felt strange beneath his fingers; he hadn't realised how much of his back they actually took up.

Seto observed them for a moment before standing up with a grunt, dusting off his trousers before making his way towards the exit.

“Something annoying, I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: dissociation** — Applies to Malik after the second line break until the end of the chapter.
> 
> I rewrote the ending to this chapter about five times; I really hope the result was satisfying ; w ; ) 
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone reading! We're finally at the halfway point and the fluff and the angst are about to ramp up~ Kudos, comments, and thoughts are always appreciated! Every bit of feedback makes my heart flutter ❤️️


	11. Chapter 11

Ryou woke up to a number of colourful sticky notes plastered to his face after passing out drafting his new TRPG campaign. He peeled them off and attempted to arrange them in an order that made sense, however the words he’d scribbled down while half-asleep made absolutely no sense to his well-rested brain.

His confusion only multiplied upon seeing over twenty notifications on his phone. It took him a few moments to remember that Jounouchi had gone off to search for Malik when the latter’s (allegedly) unconscious body had waltzed out of his apartment in the middle of a phone call. Ryou desperately wished he found the circumstances of his friend’s disappearance more alarming, but even the most extraordinary events seemed dull after being the ‘landlord’ of a vengeful ancient Egyptian demon-ghost...thing.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and began to scroll through his unread messages, the furrow in his brow deepening the further he went down. 

> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[22:49] _didn’t see him downtown. gonna check the fashion district in a bit._
> 
> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[23:12] _not there either. going to aka kitsune next_ _  
> _ [23:23] _thought i saw him but it was a shampoo ad lol_ _  
> _ [23:51] _still can’t find him, idk where else to go_
> 
> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[00:12] _gonna check kaibacorp_ _  
> _ [00:36] _he’s not here. i can’t find him. idk what to do._ _  
> _ [00:48] _what should i do?_
> 
> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[1:45] _got off a call with rishid. i think i fucked up. omg i fucked up._ _  
> _ [1:52] _i miss him_ _  
> _ [1:52] _haha oops wrong person_ _  
> _ [1:53] _ignore that_ _  
> _ [1:55] _delete it ok_
> 
> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[2:13] _he’s at kaiba’s_ _  
> _ [2:15] _don’t come. he’ll kill u_ _  
> _ [2:16] _im not even joking omfg i fucked up i fucked uuuuup_
> 
> **Jounouchi** **╰** **(*´** **︶** **`*)** **╯** **  
> **[3:21] _can u come to kaiba’s place tomorrow with mal’s phone_ _  
> _ [3:23] _he’s ok now_ _  
> _ [3:23] _mostly_ _  
> _ [3:40] _hey do u know if he likes anyone_ _  
> _ [3:46] _like like likes_ _  
> _ [3:54] _idrc btw im just curious_

Ryou tossed his phone aside and pressed his face into his hands with a muffled groan, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. The denial between them was starting to get ridiculous. It was amusing at first, but the months sloughed by and Ryou found himself wanting to lock them both inside a room until they admitted they cared about each other. He wasn’t expecting a big, dramatic confession; an, ‘I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other!’ would have sufficed.

For now.

He arrived at Kaiba Manor roughly an hour later, ears ringing from the meandering story his rideshare driver insisted on telling. After a frustrating game of phone tag, Mokuba rushed out to welcome him, apologising for the wait.

“Sorry about that,” he said breathlessly, holding the door open as Ryou stepped inside. “Seto didn’t know who you were and thought Jounouchi was inviting random people over.”

Ryou smiled. “No problem; your brother and I haven’t spoken at length.”

“Nah, I remember you from Battle City. Weren’t you the guy with the creepy occult deck?”

“Erm, technically?”

Mokuba snorted. “Let me guess; you were possessed by a spirit too?”

“It’s strangely common amongst our social circle, isn’t it?” Ryou asked, setting his things by the door. “I mean, it was only me and Yuugi, but that’s still a pretty high average per person, if you think about it.”

He followed Mokuba to the kitchen, the distinct scent of frying bacon wafting through the hallways. His stomach growled, reminding Ryou that he’d forgotten to snack on something prior to leaving his apartment.

“Have you eaten yet?” Mokuba asked, saving him the embarrassment of broaching the subject. “Seto and Jounouchi were in the middle of making breakfast before you showed up.”

Ryou almost walked into a floor lamp in his surprise. “They’re actually working together?”

“Eh, more like Jounouchi spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to use our stove and Seto stood there insulting him the whole time.”

“Thank goodness; I thought the world was ending. Again.” 

Ryou’s gaze drifted towards one of the many closed doors lining the hall, wondering how anyone could ever make use of so many rooms.

“How’s Malik doing?” he asked, realising Mokuba had yet to mention him. “I suppose you’re the reason he managed to end up so far from Jounouchi’s apartment.”

“I’m kind of worried about him,” Mokuba admitted. “He was totally out of it when I ran into him last night. Seto said he’s still sleeping.”

Ryou sighed. “The poor thing.”

“D’you know if anything’s up with him? Like, family stuff?”

“Well, yes, but it’s a bit late to do anything about it now.”

Mokuba raised an eyebrow. “What d’you mean?”

“I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you. I actually don’t know much about it myself…” Ryou paused, debating whether Malik’s previous living situation was too personal to share. “Let’s just say he didn’t have the healthiest relationship with his late father.”

“Oh. Same.”

“Really? You should start a support group.”

“Why? All we’d do is sit in a circle whining about how much our dads suck.”

“That’s usually how group therapy works, yes.”

Ryou spotted a pitiful stack of pancakes as soon as they arrived at the kitchen, each a different degree of ‘horrendously burnt’. Jounouchi stood in front of the stove wielding a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other, splotches of flour dotting the front of his shirt. Seto hovered over him like a judgemental vulture, sneering at every misstep. Neither looked like they’d gotten any sleep, which would explain the pitiful state of their pancakes. 

“I wouldn’t feed this garbage to my dog, mutt.”

Jounouchi slid another charred result onto their plate of disappointment. “You don’t even have a dog!”

“Because I fed it your cooking and it died.”

“They’ve been at it all morning,” Mokuba said, pulling out a nearby barstool. “It’s been an hour and so far, all they’ve managed to do is pour the orange juice.” 

Ryou frowned. “I don’t see you offering any help.”

He shrugged. “I ordered some breakfast burritos from Burger World half an hour ago.”

“Ah. Smart. Did you remember to order one without meat?” Ryou asked, discreetly sliding the failed pancakes into the trash bin. Jounouchi and Seto were currently arguing over the proper way to scrape wet batter from the walls. 

“Duh. I’d never hear the end of it if I forgot.”

"No, you wouldn't." 

Ryou rapped his nails against the counter and ventured into the kitchen, snatching the spatula from Jounouchi. Regardless of whether or not they wound up eating any pancakes that morning, the waste of ingredients was starting to annoy him.

"Good morning you two," he said with the most adorable smile he could muster. "Long night?"

Jounouchi whipped around, nearly splashing Seto with hot butter.

“Hey! About time you showed up!”

Seto scowled and glanced towards his brother, who offered him a sheepish wave. “What did I tell you about bringing people into the house without my permission?”

“I dunno,” Mokuba said, deadpan. “You were half asleep and mumbled the whole thing. The only actual words I heard were ‘goat cheese’ and ‘hockey puck’.”

Ryou blinked. “That’s an odd combination.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Seto grumbled, massaging his temple as he retreated into the breakfast nook. For some reason, there was a piece of hollowed out bread filled with cheese placed in the centre. Ryou stared for a moment before returning to what was left of the pancakes. Perhaps he wasn’t wealthy enough to appreciate the eccentricities of haute cuisine.

“How are you faring?” he asked Jounouchi. The dark circles under his eyes were even worse up close; Ryou was tempted to ask if he’d been punched.

“I feel like absolute shit.”

“Oh. Well, at least your appearance is consistent.”

Jounouchi sighed, leaning against the counter. “I dunno what I’m gonna do.”

“About?” 

“Everything.”

Ryou poured what was left of the batter into the hot pan. “Perhaps you should start small then.”

“Alright.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want Malik around me anymore.”

“And why’s that?” Ryou asked without looking up. 

“Because his other personality came back.”

“The one Atem banished?”

Jounouchi nodded, his jaw clenched. “Don’t tell him about it though; I don’t wanna think about what he might do if he found out.”

Ryou remained silent, unsure how to respond.

“It tried to murder Kaiba last night. Almost strangled him to death.”

“How awful.”

“Like, the only reason I agreed to let him live with me was because I thought the other guy was gone.”

“I see.” 

“But now that I know he’s not and he’s as murder-happy as ever— I mean, I’d be an idiot _not_ to kick him out, right?”

“I can’t answer that for you,” Ryou said stiffly, checking the underside of his pancake before flipping it with a gentle flick of his wrist. “It’s your decision, ultimately.”

“What would you do?” Jounouchi asked, sounding utterly defeated. 

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon Ryou, try putting yourself in my shoes for a sec—”

Ryou set the pan down more forcefully than he’d intended, rattling the metal grate with a loud clang. 

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about what it’s like being in _your_ shoes,” he said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice. “But I know from experience how it feels to have your ‘friends’ start avoiding you because of something you can’t control.”

Jounouchi avoided his eyes. “That was different.”

“How? The spirit did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. I had no choice.”

“Exactly!” Jounouchi said, pushing himself from the counter. “It wasn’t _you_ doing all that demonic shit, it was some pissed off ghost possessing your body. But this guy’s a part of him. Like, it’s some messed up part of his brain.”

“So?” Ryou asked. “Are you implying that Malik’s purposefully being malicious?”

“I’m saying all it takes for the other guy to front is for him to get pissed off!”

“...Then _don’t piss him off,_ you numpty!” Ryou said incredulously, drawing the attention of both Kaiba brothers. “I can’t believe you! The solution’s in front of your nose and you still have the _nerve_ to entertain the idea of throwing him out?”

“Ryou, have you _met_ the guy? Mal’s always fucking pissed off about something.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Man, you’re pretty fired up about this huh?” Jounouchi grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You got a crush on him or something?”

“No. You do,” Ryou said sweetly, sliding the perfectly cooked pancake onto a waiting platter.

He saw Mokuba’s head shoot up from the corner of his eye. The teen looked like he just stumbled upon the century’s juiciest hunk of gossip. KaibaCorp’s water cooler conversations were about to get much livelier. 

Jounouchi’s laugh was so forced it was actually painful to listen to. “Never pinned you for a joker, Ryou.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re so far from right you’re practically left!”

“Why are you so reluctant to throw him out then?” Ryou asked, placing a hand on his hip. “If you _really_ wanted to, you’d have made up your mind already. You said so yourself; his other personality is unpredictable and dangerous — you would be stupid to risk it.”

“Yeah, so—”

“And yet here you are, burning God knows how many pancakes, asking for my opinion.”

“Because I—”

“Because you want me to give you an excuse to keep him around. Because you _like_ him.”

Jounouchi opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, doing an immaculate impression of a dying fish.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Ryou said, lightly tapping Jounouchi’s nose with the end of his spatula.

He watched the blond squirm under his gaze, feeling oddly satisfied for confronting Jounouchi with what he’d suspected for months. His hesitance was enough of an answer in itself, but Ryou wasn’t going to relent until he heard the words straight from the horse’s mouth.

After what felt like ages, Jounouchi licked his lips and stared at the cooling stove, dropping his voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re not.”

Mokuba chuckled loudly, shaking his head before returning to his game of _Capsule Links._ “Dang. Talk about aiming way outside your league.”

“Hey! We’re about the same,” Jounouchi said, looking to Ryou for backup. “Aren’t we?”

“No,” the others replied in unison. Ryou was impressed to see that Seto felt strongly enough to chime in.

“If you two were paintings, Malik would be something you’d find at the Louvre,” Mokuba explained. “You’re more like—”

“—a slur scribbled on the door of a bathroom stall,” Seto finished.

“Thanks guys, really feeling the love here.”

“Well! Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Ryou said, returning to his usual cheery demeanour, “feel free to rephrase your question.”

Jounouchi groaned and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more. “I don’t even know what my actual question is. I don’t wanna kick him out, but I also don’t wanna wake up in the middle of the night with the other guy standing over me with a meat cleaver.”

“But you said his situation was different than mine. I believe the issue here is that you’re oversimplifying things where you shouldn’t be.” Ryou tapped his chin, thinking back to their phone call. “Last night you said he became agitated after hearing you speak badly about your father. Is it safe to assume he’s never acted that way?”

“Not since Battle Ci—” He paused, slapping a hand against his forehead. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. _Wait._ ” 

Ryou could feel the corner of his eye begin to twitch. “Take your time.”

“I called Rishid last night and he—”

“Did someone order like, six breakfast burritos from Burger World?”

All eyes fell on Malik, who appeared remarkably well-rested for someone who’d apparently suffered from multiple panic attacks and a full-blown mental breakdown barely six hours ago. Other than the large bandage on his forehead he was acting completely normal, refreshed even. Ryou glanced at Jounouchi to make sure this was ‘their’ Malik speaking — judging by the lack of abject terror on his face, he figured they were good to go on that front. 

Malik held up a large paper bag, its bottom half already soaked in oil. “I saw some guy standing outside and when I answered the door, he threw this at me and told me to go fuck myself for making him wait.”

“Wow. Good thing I forgot to tip,” Mokuba said, hopping off his stool to inspect the food.

“Seriously? Maybe that’s why he was so pissed off.”

Jounouchi snorted. “Considering it takes like ten minutes to walk up the fucking driveway, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Malik froze, finally noticing both Ryou and Jounouchi’s presence. Ryou thought the excessive amount of burritos would’ve tipped him off, however he could see Mokuba happily destroying three of them on his own. Teenage boys could be terrifying creatures.

“Morning sunshine.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Malik asked, holding the bag away with a scowl. Ryou placed a hand on Jounouchi’s arm in support, noticing his slight tremble. Granted, he’d also be unsettled if Malik were glaring at him with such revulsion.

“Seto called him over last night,” Mokuba said, standing on tiptoe as he searched for his order. “To check up on you or something.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Why would—”

“You were unresponsive for most of the night,” Seto said simply, emerging from his cosy hiding spot. He plucked the paper bag from Malik’s grasp and gave it to his brother. “I found you on the floor of our guest room when I got home. I’m guessing you fainted and hit your head on the way down.” He tapped the bandage. “I didn’t feel like dealing with it myself and Mokuba was already asleep, so I called him over.”

“Do emergency hospitals not exist in this city?” Malik asked, walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. He shoved past Jounouchi, ignoring him.

“They do.”

“So why didn’t you call one?”

Seto shrugged. “Inconveniencing the mutt was too tempting to resist.”

“Nice to know I’m an inconvenience,” Malik said, splashing a palmful of water in his direction.

“You probably passed out because you didn’t eat much when we were out yesterday,” Ryou added. He caught the small nod of appreciation from Seto. “Stress on an empty stomach isn’t the most ideal combination.”

“Were you with Jounouchi?” Malik asked, tilting his head.

“Me? Oh, no, I came this morning to drop off your phone,” he said, pulling the device from his pocket and handing it back with a smile. “I feel awful for taking it. Jounouchi sent a few texts warning you about Honda being at the apartment and...well, now we’re here.”

Jounouchi coughed a clearly audible ‘told you’. 

“Oh, shut _up,_ ” Malik snapped. “It wasn’t Honda that pissed me off this time, idiot.”

“Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry.”

“You’re what?”

“I should’ve listened to you the first, I dunno, fifty times you told me to stop,” Jounouchi said, working up the courage to meet Malik’s eyes. “It was my fault and I’m owning up to it.”

“Why?”

“The hell d’you mean ‘why’?” Jounouchi asked, dumbfounded.

“What else could I mean!?”

“I dunno, that’s why I’m asking!”

“I asked you first,” Malik said, slipping into bratty younger sibling mode.

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. “I’m apologising because I don’t want you to be mad at me, alright? You’ve got every reason to, it’s just—” He floundered, struggling to find his words. “I don’t want this to be the reason we go back to the way we were before.”

Ryou bit into his burrito, suspecting that the sincerity in Jounouchi’s unprompted apology caught Malik off-guard. His sneer was immediately replaced with a look of genuine confusion while he attempted to process what was happening. Considering that wrenching a ‘sorry’ out of either blond was like pulling teeth with a spoon, Ryou couldn’t blame him.

“...Fine,” he replied stiffly.

“Great to hear it,” Jounouchi said, sounding relieved. “Also, not to change the subject, but you should probably give Rishid a call so he knows you’re not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“You called him? Were you trying to organise an international search party or something?” Malik asked sarcastically, though his tone wasn’t nearly as harsh as it had been. “Did you think I swam all the way back to Egypt?” 

“Maybe? I dunno. I was just worried about you.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“How’s any of that weird?”

“Because you’re being all gooey!”

“ _...Gooey?_ ” Jounouchi repeated.

“Is that not the right word? You know when someone’s being all...” He made an odd motion with his hands which no one else in the room seemed to understand. “Like that? Like...goo.”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ryou politely pretended not to notice how flustered Malik was getting, hiding his amusement with another bite of burrito. An apology _and_ concern for his well-being? Jounouchi was venturing into uncharted territory. 

“I— You—” He let out a defeated sigh. “Excuse me,” Malik mumbled, leaving the kitchen presumably to find some privacy for his call.

Thankfully, Mokuba had the decency to wait until Malik was out of earshot before gleefully informing Jounouchi he’d been:

“ _Denied!_ ”

“That’s enough,” Ryou said shortly, grabbing the hem of Jounouchi’s shirt in case he decked the little gremlin in front of his older brother.

Seto smirked. “I don’t think Ishtar remembers your rendezvous last night.”

“Guess not,” Jounouchi said, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “And If he does, he’s doing a hell of a job hiding it.”

“Rendezvous?” Ryou asked.

“Mal got _real_ snuggly with me last night.”

Mokuba choked on his orange juice, heaving a string of hacking coughs in his shock. 

“In Ishtar’s defence, he wasn’t entirely lucid,” Seto said, thumping a fist against his brother’s back. “For all we know he thought he was cuddling with an actual dog.” 

Jounouchi frowned. “You guys, I’m already on the damn ground, you can stop kicking.”

“But this is good news, isn’t it?” Ryou asked. “Since he wasn’t aware enough to stop himself, that might mean he has feelings for you too, at least subconsciously.”

Seto scoffed. “Rationalising someone’s moment of madness isn’t going to do anyone any favours.”

“Why didn’t he cosy up to you then, rich boy?” Jounouchi shot back. “You were there first.”

“Are you really so insecure that you’re turning this into a competition?”

“You know what that sounds like? Loser talk!”

Ryou cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt your moment of victory, but you mentioned something about Rishid?”

“Oh! Right.” Jounouchi grabbed one of the remaining burritos before Mokuba could claim it. “He told me Mal’s got fucked up Daddy Issues.”

“That doesn’t seem like something Rishid would say,” Ryou said doubtfully.

“I’m summarising.”

“That checks out.” Seto grimaced at the greasy takeout and tore off a piece of the lone edible pancake instead. “Even the other one started acting erratic once his father was brought up.”

“That ugly freak’s always been an S-tier nutcase though,” Jounouchi said through a mouthful of tortilla. 

“Ugly? They have the same face.”

“I meant ugly on the inside. Kinda like you.”

“Regardless, now that you know the topic bothers him to the point of...this,” Ryou gestured vaguely at the room, “you can avoid talking about it.”

“Forever?”

“In what universe is bringing up someone’s dead father a regular topic of conversation?” Seto asked dully.

“It’s not just _his_ dad,” Jounouchi clarified. “All of this started because he overheard me bitching about mine.”

“Don’t do that then,” Ryou said, failing to mask his annoyance. “I don’t understand why you’re making this so complicated. If you need to vent, sign up for Bumblr and meme your way through the pain like the rest of us.”

“What the hell? I’m not gonna walk around on eggshells for the rest of my—”

“You will if you want him to stay in that apartment with you.”

“Well maybe I don’t anymore!”

Ryou stared at him in silence as he worked his way through the second half of his burrito. 

“...Yeah, I didn’t believe any of that either,” Jounouchi said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I don’t even know why I’m still arguing about this.”

“I have a theory,” Seto mumbled.

“Keep it to yourself, moneybags.”  
  


* * *

  
The ride back was incredibly awkward.

Before talking to Rishid, Malik was planning to arrange an extended stay at one of the many hotels near KaibaCorp for the rest of his contract. Between their fight and his hasty escape, he doubted Jounouchi would want anything more to do with him. In fact, he was stunned they were actually heading back to his apartment and not the Domino City airport. 

It didn’t help that Jounouchi hadn’t said a word to him since they’d dropped off Ryou, other than asking him to move up to the passenger’s seat. Malik stole a glance every now and then, trying to determine whether he was mad, sad, or just exhausted.

He’d learnt from Rishid that Jounouchi spent the better part of last night searching for him, apparently worried sick. If it were anyone else, he would’ve dismissed it as an exaggeration, however his brother was the one person in his life he would believe without question. That tidbit of knowledge had successfully guilted him into staying, but he still wasn’t sure where he and Jounouchi currently stood in terms of their relationship.

...By which he meant friendship. Or maybe acquaintanceship, if that was even a thing. Because that’s all they were to each other, right?

Malik groaned and pressed his cheek against the window, missing the slight quirk in Jounouchi’s lips. He wasn’t used to anyone outside of his family worrying about him. Not like this, anyway.

The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even remember _what_ they were arguing about. Although he knew that whatever Jounouchi said had angered him to the point of seeing red, he was blanking on the actual details. It was like someone ripped the memory straight from his head, leaving a sticky residue that refused to come off no matter how desperately he scratched at its edges. The only other time he could remember feeling like this was— 

“We should talk,” Jounouchi said, startling Malik out of his thoughts.

He sat up straight, having spent most of the ride slumped against the backrest.

“About?”

“Stuff.”

Malik forced a smile. “Sounds fun. What kinds of stuff? Are you going to tell me where babies come from? Isis won’t.”

Jounouchi sped up to beat an oncoming traffic light, the car’s engine straining under the sudden surge.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said, complexion growing paler by the second.

“You actually believed that? I’m insulted.”

“Says the guy who discovered the existence of ice when he was eleven.”

Malik pouted. “Low blow. ...Which, by the way, is _not_ how babies are made.”

“So, your death cult couldn’t spring for an ice machine, but they had a robust sex-ed programme?”

“Yeah? We lived underground without television or internet; what else was there to do?”

Malik cackled as they sped past another red light.

“You know, if we get into an accident it’ll be your fault,” Jounouchi said, giving him a weak glare.

“Stop making it so fun then.”

Their conversation lulled to a stop, however the silence somehow felt more comfortable than before. Jounouchi wasn’t as tense while he drove, and Malik was actively taking in the scenery instead of staring mindlessly at the safety warning on the car’s side mirror.

He waited for Jounouchi to continue, since he was the one who’d brought up needing to talk in the first place. The seconds slowly turned into minutes and Malik’s infamously low patience had already worn thin. What changed between now and five minutes ago? A thinly veiled reference to blowjobs?

“Sooo, are we going to have that talk anytime soon?” Malik asked, leaning back into his seat.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Jounouchi said, surprised that Malik spoke to him unprompted. “Sorry, still sorting out what I wanted to say.” 

“No rush.”

He studied Jounouchi’s face, attempting to suss out whether their upcoming chat was going to be serious. The idea of having a heart to heart in a closed space filled Malik with dread, but he knew they couldn’t dance around the problem forever.

They could certainly try, though.

Malik perked up once the familiar sight of Jounouchi’s apartment complex came into view. It felt like he hadn’t seen the humble little building in months despite only being gone for a single night. After pulling into their usual parking spot, Malik unbuckled his seatbelt and went to unlock the door, only to be stopped by a warm hand on his shoulder. He flinched, feeling Jounouchi’s thumb brush against the edge of his scars.

“Oh, shit—”

“Be quiet, I’m fine,” Malik said irritably, combing his hair over the same shoulder.

He’d misplaced his jacket somewhere in Seto’s house and the jerk refused to let him look for it, leaving Malik in his sleeveless undershirt. Thankfully, Jounouchi had an extra coat in his trunk — it was too big and smelled faintly of sweat, but at least it was something. The first thing he planned to do once inside was take a nice long soak in the tub.

“Do they hurt?” Jounouchi asked, slowly withdrawing his hand. 

“Sometimes.”

“Is it a physical thing or like...”

He tapped his temple, which Malik took to mean ‘psychological’, though he wasn’t sure whether Jounouchi didn’t know the proper word or was worried he’d offend him by saying it out loud. Malik fought the urge to laugh — while he didn’t particularly like _talking_ about it, he’d never deny that there was something wrong with him. Not everyone could brag about creating an entirely separate soul made from concentrated negativity. 

“Both. Now what do you want?”

“If this is a bad time—”

“It’s not,” Malik insisted, shifting his position to fully face Jounouchi. “Stop acting weird. I don’t want any of this hovering over us once we go back inside, so let’s do ourselves a favour and get it all out now.”

Jounouchi scoffed. “Only _you_ would be freaked out by someone being nice to you.”

“Can you please get on with it?” Malik said impatiently, dragging a finger down the windshield. “All your hot air’s making the windows fog up.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘no rush’?”

“Nothing happened. I'm allowed to change my mind.”

Jounouchi chuckled, but Malik could tell that he was anxious. His eyes kept darting around the empty lot, like he was expecting to spot one of their neighbours eavesdropping behind the bushes. In an attempt to speed things up, Malik reached over and slammed a fist against the car’s horn, startling a number of birds into the air. 

No neighbours though.

“What the—”

“Spit it out already!”

“I’m sorry!” Jounouchi finally blurted out, pushing Malik’s hand off the steering wheel. “I’m sorry for last night and I’m sorry for everything that happened after it.”

“Is that all? You said this already,” Malik said tiredly. “Fine, whatever, apology accepted. Are we good now?”

Jounouchi shook his head. "You don’t get it.”

“Get _what?_ ”

“I thought he’d—” He hesitated, swallowing whatever was poised at the tip of his tongue. “I thought you wouldn’t come back.”

Malik had no idea what to make of anything Jounouchi was saying. It was so overdramatic — he’d only been gone a few hours. Did Seto make the bump on his head sound more serious than it was? Why else would Jounouchi be getting so worked up about this?

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I dunno either,” Jounouchi admitted, looking at him for the first time since their fight. “I just wanted you to hear that.”

“Okay. Thanks?” 

Another breathy chuckle. “You really have no idea what went on back there, do you?”

“What are you talking about? Should I?” Malik asked, now _very_ aware that Jounouchi knew something that he didn’t. “I mean, to be honest, my memory really isn’t the best—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jounouchi said, hastily waving away his concern. “It was just some stupid thing between me and Kaiba.”

Malik huffed. Why would he have wasted so much time on something he wasn’t even planning to reveal? None of this was making any sense.

“Jounouchi—”

“Also, I wanted to ask you something,” he continued, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I just kind of wanted to make sure you didn’t hate my guts first.”

“Well, that depends,” Malik said airily. “Are you going to make me wait another twenty minutes? Because if the answer is ‘yes’ then I’d hold off for a week or so.”

“Nah, this one’s all set.”

“Go for it.”

It was probably going to be some asinine question about what sort of boxers Seto had in his bedroom, as if the first thing anyone did while staying at someone’s house was snoop into their underwear drawer.

Despite the low temperature outside, beads of sweat were beginning to form on Jounouchi’s brow. Was he getting sick? Driving around all night without sleep didn’t sound too healthy.

Great. As if Malik needed another reason to feel guilty.

“Do...do you maybe wanna try going out...with me?” Jounouchi choked out, amber eyes wide. 

The silence that followed was so thick you could slice it with a knife.

“Uh, please?” he added in a tiny voice. 

Malik stared at him, lips slightly parted. Where the hell was this coming from? Was this a joke? This _had_ to be a joke, right? None of this was real. Ryou bullied Jounouchi into doing this as punishment for having to drive all the way to Kaiba Manor just to return his phone.

Or Mokuba. Mokuba was responsible for this. Somehow.

“...Like to the store?” he asked, casually feeling around for the window switch. The close confines of Jounouchi’s car had suddenly become unbearably stuffy. 

“No, like. On a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for Valentine’s Day 💝
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos last chapter! I was happy to see that people enjoyed Seto and Yami Malik’s interactions in the last update; the positive response actually encouraged me to expand upon their scenes in the upcoming chapters ^^ ~~I also have a Powershipping fic in the works and I’m pretty excited about that.~~
> 
> Thanks for reading~ Kudos and comments are always appreciated! I cherish every one I get ✨


	12. Chapter 12

Malik sighed.

As soon as the blimp had taken to the skies, he was approached by a tournament official and handed an envelope sealed with a wax stamp featuring KaibaCorp’s logo. Inside was an invitation to the ship’s upper deck for a welcoming party, the line at the very bottom stressing that the event was **_only_ **meant for Battle City finalists; bolded, italicised, and underlined.

While the thought of mingling with the Pharaoh and Jounouchi made him physically ill, Malik supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try and bolster Namu’s credibility. Who knew how long he’d have to keep up his insufferably sunny facade? His cheeks were actually starting to hurt.

Before heading out, Malik left the Millennium Rod in Rishid’s room just in case a certain thief thought to snoop around while everyone was distracted. They both agreed that it would be out of character for ‘Malik’ to attend, so following a quick pep talk, he left Rishid and made his way to the elevator, keeping an eye out for other duelists. Between Rishid, Bakura, and himself, Malik was confident the Pharaoh’s allies would fold like tissue paper, leaving the disgraced king wide open for a fatal strike.

Only one of them was going to leave this tournament alive; he would make sure of that.

“‘Sup Namu?”

Malik spotted Jounouchi walking out of his (extremely noisy) room, raising a hand in greeting. He forced an amicable smile despite wanting nothing more than to bash the blonde’s head into the floor for ruining his plans. The way he broke through the Rod’s mind control was like nothing Malik had ever seen. How the hell did such a moron resist a Millennium Item’s magic? Was it because he didn’t have much of a brain in the first place?

“Oh, hey!” he said with a small wave. “I was wondering when I’d run into you.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s your lucky day!” Jounouchi proudly thumped a fist against his chest. “If you impress me later on, I might even sign your Duel Disk.”

Malik laughed, if only to fight off his growing urge to vomit. “I’ll definitely put on a show for you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, flashing him a toothy grin. “Also, no offense, but I’m surprised you made it all the way here.”

“You are?” Malik cocked his head to the side, attempting his best impression of a lost puppy. “Why’s that?”

“Didn’t you say you sucked at this game?” 

Shit.

“Yeah...sorry, that was kind of a lie,” he said meekly. “I was one Puzzle Card away from qualifying and thought you were about to challenge me.” Malik chewed on his bottom lip for an extra dash of innocence. “It would be an honour to duel you in the finals though.”

Jounouchi chuckled, moving to walk alongside him. “Careful what you wish for. You can butter me up all you want with those big ol’ eyes; I won’t go easy on you.” 

Butter in his eyes? _What?_

“I’d be insulted if you did.” 

“Sounds like we’re on the same page then!”

Just as the elevators came into view, Jounouchi slipped ahead of him, slamming a hand against the opposite wall and blocking him from advancing any further. Malik drew back and looked to him in confusion.

“You know, something’s been bugging me,” Jounouchi said, his voice low. “What happened to you after the Ghouls attacked us?” 

“The Ghouls?” Malik repeated, praying that his shock sounded genuine. “You mean those duelists running around stealing cards? When did they—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you were there when it happened.”

Dumb? Did this mouth breathing idiot just call him dumb? “Wh— I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Jounouchi, Namu! Wait up!”

Ryou, or rather, Ryou’s body, raced down the empty hallway, his pale cheeks flushed pink. Malik had never been so happy to be interrupted in his life. 

“Are you two headed to the welcoming event?” he asked, holding up his envelope. “I didn’t want to show up too early — it’s kind of awkward being the first one at a party, you know? Doubly so if Kaiba’s the only other guest.”

Malik took advantage of the disruption to casually scoot away from Jounouchi. “We were about to take the elevator up; you can come if you’d like.”

“Sure!” Ryou beamed. “Do you think it’ll be catered? I haven’t eaten at all today.”

“Pretty sure you’re not allowed to call something a party unless it’s got food,” Jounouchi said, folding his arms behind his head. 

“Did we need to bring our invites?” Malik asked, pointing at the card.

Ryou shook his head. “Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt. Why? Have you lost yours already?”

Malik’s eye twitched. It seemed the spirit couldn’t resist an opportunity to mock him, even when one of the Pharaoh’s friends was standing right next to them.

“I left it in my room,” he said stiffly.

Jounouchi searched his pockets as well, pulling out lint and a dried piece of gum. “Shit, I did too.”

“I’d go grab it if I were you,” Ryou advised. “Who knows; Kaiba might’ve told security to throw out any suspected stowaways.” 

“But we’re like a billion kilometres in the air!”

“You act like he cares.” He firmly tugged Malik towards him, his cheerful expression turning somewhat unnerving. “By the way, I never got a chance to thank you for helping me earlier. Do you mind if I tag along? I was hoping we could swap contact info!”

Malik had no idea where this was going, but he doubted it was anywhere good. “Actually, I was—”

Ryou squeezed his arm, dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Please, I insist.”

“Sounds good; we’ll catch up at the party,” Jounouchi said, sending them off with a salute. “Gotta make sure none of those chucklefucks ate my invitation.”

“See you there,” Malik said, watching him leave. He frowned. Had Jounouchi decided to drop the interrogation on his own, or was this the Millennium Ring’s doing?

“You really are useless without my help, aren’t you?” Bakura asked, letting go of his arm once Jounouchi’s footsteps faded into silence. He’d shed all traces of his host’s softer features in favour of his own devilish appearance. “Your shitty little murder plot goes belly up and now you’re scrambling to put out all the fires you’ve left burning.”

“Be quiet.”

A snort. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I’ve had a long day,” Malik groaned, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t used to failure; being hit with multiple losses over the last few hours was giving him a blinding migraine.

“Aw, the poor baby,” Bakura cooed, following him back to his room. “Would you like me to fetch you some warm milk before your third attempt at regicide?”

“Maybe later. I’ve heard dairy and bloodshed can lead to horrible indigestion.” He smirked and pressed a finger against Bakura’s cheek. “I’ll hold you to that though. After all this is done, I want the Pharaoh’s head and a glass of milk brought to me on a golden platter. You can stuff Osiris into his mouth for garnish.”

The thief scoffed and smacked his hand away. “Whatever. I’ll jump as high as you want as long as you don’t conveniently forget to deliver on your end of the bargain.”

“I don’t have any reason to betray you,” Malik insisted. “I told you; once the Pharaoh’s been taken care of, I won’t have any use for the Rod. In fact, surrendering my family’s items to you would be like pissing on his grave. ...Tomb. Sarcophagus?”

“Seriously?” Bakura threw back his head and cackled like a rabid hyena. “You’re such a fucking brat; I love it! I’d never have guessed the key to the Pharaoh’s demise would be a _tomb keeper.”_ He rubbed his chin, staring at Malik with an expression he could only describe as ‘hungry’. “To think the bastard wanted to keep someone like you buried in the sand.”

“Someone like me?”

“Don’t hurt yourself on that one,” he snickered, offering Malik a mock bow. “It’ll be a pleasure pissing alongside you.”   
  


* * *

  
By modern standards, the Domino City Mall was incredibly underwhelming. Compared to the trendy boutiques and cafés lining downtown, its selection of stores and restaurants were forever stuck in the late 1980s. It was easy to imagine a time when it might have been more popular, but now there wasn’t anything there that couldn’t be found cheaper (and better) elsewhere in the city.

However, it boasted a surprisingly spacious indoor ice-skating rink, which was the only reason Jounouchi ever bothered to step foot into the place. 

After settling back into the apartment, he spent the better part of his week convincing Malik he was being completely serious about taking him out on a date. It was rough at first; Malik would change the subject whenever it came up and actively avoided being in the same room for too long. Jounouchi was beginning to worry Malik’s dazed snuggles really were just a fluke.

He gradually came around once Jounouchi started leaving gifts in his bedroom: a new night light shaped like a fat bird, a box of dark chocolates, and a gift card to his favourite book shop. When confronted, Jounouchi reluctantly admitted to getting the idea from a nature documentary he saw on TV. Apparently, his answer was both stupid and innocent enough to endear Malik into accepting his invitation. 

Jounouchi initially considered more traditional ‘first date’ options, but he realised there wasn’t much difference between dining out as friends and dining out as...boyfriends? Was it okay for him to use that term this early?

Regardless, he decided a trip to the rink would make for a memorable evening, mainly due to Malik’s strange fascination with ice. On the drive there, Malik mentioned there being a few similar spots in Cairo, although he’d never actually been to one. Jounouchi was hopeful this would all work out in his favour, especially if Malik didn’t know how to skate.

Once they rented their equipment and awkwardly clunked into the rink, it became painfully clear that Jounouchi was going to have to do some heavy lifting. 

Literally.

Malik held his hands in a vice grip while he worked to find his balance, the pressure steadily increasing every time he slipped. Jounouchi sucked in his lips and tried hard not to laugh, afraid that Malik would quickly make use of the two blades strapped to his feet. Then again, he’d probably topple over once he was let go.

“You good?” he asked, guiding him to the outer wall. “I’m gonna have to pull you around the rink at this rate.”

Malik took a few shaky steps towards the railing, breathing a sigh of relief the moment his hands made contact. He glanced behind his shoulder and straightened his back, trying his best to regain his faux regal image. Given that he was currently wearing a slouchy black toque with cat ears (no matter how hard he insisted they were ‘devil horns’), it wasn’t working too well.

He huffed, carefully turning to face Jounouchi while keeping a hold on the rail. “Of all the places you could’ve chosen, you went for the one guaranteed to make me feel like an idiot.”

“Thought it might be nice to switch things up a little,” Jounouchi said, circling the unamused Malik. “‘Sides, this place waives the entry fee after six and I’m a cheap date.”

“An honest one too.”

Jounouchi stopped a short distance away, checking to make sure none of the other skaters would cut him off. “Give it another go!”

“Seriously? You’re way too far!” Malik protested. “I’d be on my ass halfway there!”

“Well yeah, that’s the plan!”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Dude, chill,” Jounouchi said, pausing to appreciate his unintended pun. “I haven’t let you fall yet, have I?”

“...No.”

“I’d say that’s a pretty good track record, right?”

Jounouchi watched with amusement as Malik struggled to find another reason to complain. It was strange; he wasn't usually so resistant to new things. Maybe it was the surprise element that was throwing him off. Malik was always eager to participate when he felt like something was his idea, but anything else was scrutinised to hell and back just to receive his begrudging seal of, ‘It’s Fine, I Guess’.

After observing the other patrons, Malik took a deep breath and pushed himself from the wall, copying their form. He kept deathly still while he drifted across the ice at a glacial speed, a spark of excitement lighting up his lilac eyes. Jounouchi felt his cheeks warm at the sight, though his affection quickly turned to concern once Malik began to lose momentum. Without anything to grab onto, he started to wobble, arms flailing as he fought to stay upright. 

Before he could even squeak out a cry for help, Jounouchi swooped in behind him, keeping a hand on Malik’s lower back until he found his footing. When he was sure Malik wouldn’t tip over, Jounouchi linked their arms together and stuffed his hands into his pockets, waiting for Malik to do the same. 

“See? I can be cool sometimes,” he said, puffing out his chest.

Malik sighed, using his free hand to adjust his hat while they slowly skated along the outermost part of the rink. “You only brought me here so you could play hero, didn’t you?”

“I was wondering when you’d catch on.”

“That’s very me of you,” Malik said with a smirk.

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

“Don’t let Honda hear you say that,” he warned. “He’ll have a fucking conniption.”

“...Yeah, that kind of already happened when I said we were dating.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “You told him?”

“Too soon?”

“I mean, you could’ve waited to see how this date went first.”

“True. ...So uh, how’s it going?” Jounouchi asked anxiously.

Malik shrugged. “Still deciding. Definitely looking forward to the next one though.” 

It took him a moment to register that Malik had just greenlit a second date.

“Does that make us officially a couple?”

“Almost. I promised Rishid I’d run any suitors by him before making anything ‘official’. Apparently he doesn’t trust my judgement, or whatever,” Malik said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I doubt you’ll have any issues getting his approval.”

“Eh, I dunno. I did some pretty wild shit when I was a kid; joined a gang, robbed a store, roughed up a couple of nerds—”

“Are you being stupid on purpose or making fun of me?”

“Let’s call it fifty-fifty.”

“Jerk,” Malik said, but he was smiling, and his tone lacked its usual bite.

“Would your sister be cool with me?” Jounouchi wouldn’t be surprised if he had to submit an essay and pass an oral exam before Isis would allow him past the hand holding stage. 

“Um. I’ll pray for you,” Malik said simply. 

Great.

“What about _your_ sister?” he asked, tilting his head. “Does she even know I’m here?”

“She does. She donated the vanity, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“I’d like to think she’d want me to be happy, whatever that meant,” Jounouchi said, glancing at Malik sheepishly.

He remembered how disappointed she was when things didn’t work out between him and Mai; she’d already started thinking of her as an older sister. Luckily, it hadn't taken them more than a single date to realise they were at very different stages in their lives. Anything beyond a close friendship would’ve made things messy, to say the least. 

...Not that Malik was any easier.

“It might take some convincing, but she’ll come around eventually. Course, a bit of acting on your end wouldn’t hurt.” 

Malik rolled his eyes. “I’m not lying to your little sister.”

“I’m not asking you to _lie,”_ he said, “just maybe dial the sass down to a three whenever she comes to visit.”

“A three? Where does it normally rank?”

“Like a ninety.”

“Out of?”

“Ten.”

“You _do_ remember I have knife boots on, yes?” Malik asked, his voice frighteningly calm.

Jounouchi snorted. “I’d be more intimidated if you didn’t flop over like a baby penguin without me.”

“Excuse me?”

“What? You’re not exactly walrus shaped.”

“Wal—” Malik blinked. “I don’t remember what those are, but if they’re ugly I’m doing something to your toothbrush.”

“I said you _weren’t_ shaped like one!”

“I’m still Googling it!”

Jounouchi made a mental note to switch out his toothbrush. 

As they (finally) finished their first lap, Malik gave his ribs a hard nudge.

“Isn’t that the dice dude who kept complimenting my stomach?” he asked, nodding towards the entrance. “I think he’s waving at you.”

Sure enough, Otogi Ryuuji was waiting for them at the rink’s exit, looking like a cat that was ready to eat the biggest canary of its life. Jounouchi grimaced, already anticipating an innuendo-filled interrogation. As if it weren’t bad enough he’d spent ninety minutes on the phone listening to Honda rant about something called an ‘inky bus’. He suspected Honda might have sent him to keep an eye on things.

Because you know, if Malik wanted to murder him, there'd be no better place than the middle of a shitty shopping mall. 

“What’s up?” Jounouchi called out, skidding to a stop. “Slow night at your old man’s café?”

“It’s my day off,” Otogi said, leaning casually onto the barrier. He was dressed in a slim-fitting flight jacket with a thick red scarf draped across his shoulders, his trademark earring dangling from his left ear. “Thought I’d take a stroll around the city to see if any Christmas decorations were up.”

“Any luck?”

He smirked, green eyes wandering to their linked arms. “Not as much as you, apparently.”

“No idea what you mean,” Jounouchi said blankly. 

“Uh huh.”

“Did you need something or are you here to gawk?” Malik asked. Clearly he’d gotten over any shyness he harboured during their first meeting.

Otogi laughed. “Why so defensive? I saw you two while passing the rink and wanted to pop by and say hello.”

Malik wasn’t convinced. “We’re at the furthest end of the mall and the only other shop nearby sells novelty dinosaur lamps. Exclusively.”

“Interesting,” Jounouchi said, rubbing his chin. “Trying to win brownie points with Ryuuzaki?”

“Who?” Otogi blinked. 

“Short, purple fringe, sounds like he ate an entire pack of cigarettes? His friend’s a dorky bug nerd that wears glass—”

“Who cares about those nobodies, I want to know what the hell is going on between you two,” he said, abandoning all subtlety. “How did _this_ happen? I got like fifty texts from Honda this morning and thought he was drunk!”

“Told you,” Malik grumbled. 

“Seriously, I don’t know whether to congratulate you or talk Ishtar out of settling!”

“You could always mind your own fu—” 

For the sake of the many children running around, Jounouchi hastily covered Malik’s mouth.

“What makes you think he settled? I’m a pretty good catch! Hardworking, self-made, an all-star duelist—”

“And astoundingly humble,” Otogi finished.

“That too!”

Malik pulled Jounouchi’s hand from his face with a muffled growl. “Maybe you should focus on figuring out how to make your relationships last past the first night.”

“Dang Mal, right for the jugular.”

“No, shush, this is hilarious,” Otogi insisted, moving to the side while they stepped out of the rink. “I had my doubts at first, but I’m totally on board for this!”

“Oh good. Now that we have Otoharu’s blessing, we’re free to date without sin,” Malik said dully.

“It’s Otogi,” he corrected.

“I don’t actually care.”

Otogi clasped a hand on Jounouchi’s shoulder and squeezed. “Please make this work. I will _pay_ you.”

“Okay, getting a little creepy there,” Jounouchi said, attempting to pry him off. “Do me a favour and tell Honda that so he’ll quit accusing Mal of being a witch.”

“You got it,” he nodded. “No promises though — he’s as stubborn as you are when he wants to be.”

“Of course! That’s why we’re best buds.”

“What if he’s jealous that Ishtar’s muscling in on his turf?”

“What ‘turf’? This is the same guy that ‘no homo’d when he accidentally bumped into a male barista.” 

“Then why’s he being so weird? I thought you guys made peace with the roommate situation already.”

“So did I,” Jounouchi said, scratching the back of his head.

He could sense that Malik wanted to put his two cents in, however he thankfully chose to distract himself by looking up pictures of baby walruses. After confirming that the blubbery creatures were hideous, Malik pocketed his phone and slipped his glove back on.

“Want me to get us some cocoa?” he asked, jutting his thumb towards a small kiosk near the skate rental. 

A hot drink did sound pretty nice. “Could you?” 

“Marshmallows?”

“Duh. What kind of sick bastard drinks cocoa without them?”

Malik turned to Otogi. “What about you?”

“I’m honoured you even bothered to ask,” he said, tossing his hair back. “I’ll have a white mocha; no whipped cream.”

“Sure thing.” Malik held out his hand expectantly. “That’ll be eight hundred yen.”

“I have to pay?” 

“Yes? I’m not dating you.”

“You could be.”

“Nine hundred.”

Otogi scanned the menu. “The drinks are only four hundred!”

“There’s a service charge,” Malik said simply. 

“For what, walking 4 metres to the left?”

“Yup; a hundred yen per metre. The extra hundred’s for emotional damage.”

Jounouchi had to admit that Malik’s sarcasm made for an entertaining show, especially during the rare instances he wasn’t on the receiving end. Weaponising Malik’s abrasive personality against detractors was a tantalising prospect. Forget cheer squads; using an attractive Egyptian to silence any hecklers would launch his motivation through the roof. 

After another back and forth, Otogi rolled his eyes and decided to get his own drink, a very smug Malik following closely behind him.  
  


* * *

  
“I am not naming a lamp.”

“You have to,” Jounouchi said, pulling his key from the ignition. “It’s the law. Whenever you get something that’s shaped like another thing, it’s gotta have a name.”

“Fine. Its name is Mr. Lamp.”

“Boring! I know you can do better than that. You gave your motorcycle a proper name, didn’t you?”

“Do _not_ compare my bike to a lamp you bought at the five-hundred-yen store!”

“Oho, my bad; didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.”

Malik busied himself with the seatbelt to hide his smile. “Lampy then.”

Jounouchi clicked his tongue and leant forward, resting his chin on Malik’s shoulder. “What about Lampert?”

“No.”

“Lampthony?”

“Gross.”

“Samuel Amp Jackson?”

Malik snorted and quickly crumpled into a fit of laughter; apparently Jounouchi had struck gold. He briefly pressed his cheek against Jounouchi’s head before shrugging him off.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, stepping out of the car. Malik shivered against the freezing wind, eager to get back inside so he could defrost underneath the kotatsu. Jounouchi quickly followed suit, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they walked towards the building.

“What’s it say about you for dating an idiot?” he asked, flicking Malik’s toque askew.

“Never said I wasn’t one too,” Malik said, huddling close to him for warmth. “I’m just better than you at faking otherwise.”

“Oh yeah? Any tips?”

“Expanding your vocabulary would be a good start.”

“Hey, remember when you said I was acting ‘gooey’ the other day?”

“I’m sorry, how many languages do _you_ speak fluently?”

“Two.”

“Japanese and?”

_“Love.”_ Jounouchi grinned, enjoying Malik’s horrified expression.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Aim for Nishimura’s parking spot.”

“Let it go Jounouchi, he already apologised for—”

Malik paused, catching a strange movement out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned towards the complex, eyes narrowed. Though it was hard to make out in the dark, there was definitely a human-shaped shadow pacing outside their apartment door. He couldn't quite gauge their height, but they were either very bulky, or wearing an ill-fitting coat.

"Someone's up there," he said, tugging Jounouchi's sleeve. Being Malik, he naturally assumed the worst, however he was calm enough to reason away any possibility that the Pharaoh had risen a second time to scold him for abandoning his post.

“You’re not expecting anyone, are you?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Jounouchi said.

“Should we call the police?”

“Nah, we can handle it. You know how to throw a decent punch, right?”

Before he could answer, Jounouchi sprinted towards the staircase, leaving him alone under one of the car lot’s flickering lights. It didn’t take long for Malik to chase after him.

“What if _they_ call the police!?” he asked. “I’m not risking my work visa to beat up a hobo! Call 110 and have them deal with it!”

“Do you _really_ wanna get the cops involved, Mister International Crime Boss That Entered the Country Illegally to Murder Somebody When He was Sixteen?”

“That’s a mouthful,” Malik grumbled, reluctantly following him upstairs. “They wouldn’t find anything, by the way. My record’s been completely scrubbed.”

“Then maybe you can ask Isis to work her magic and—”

Jounouchi froze upon reaching the second floor, causing Malik to bump into him. Annoyed, he rubbed his nose and attempted to see what made him stop so abruptly, only for Jounouchi to seize his arm.

“Don’t move,” he said. 

Although he felt an immediate urge to do the exact opposite, Malik kept his mouth shut. He’d never seen Jounouchi this serious. Still curious, he peeked over his shoulder, wondering if the shadow belonged to one of those fabled night clowns Ryou had warned them about.

While the stranger didn’t fit Malik’s narrow definition of a clown (at least, of the circus variety), he understood why Jounouchi hadn’t gone any further. If he were to look up ‘scuzzy’ in the dictionary, Malik was fairly certain there would be a full-page photo of this man. He was tall and lanky, with sunken cheeks and a matted, greying beard that probably hadn’t had a good wash in months. His discoloured clothes were partially hidden beneath a fraying winter coat that reeked of cigarettes and alcohol.

“Hey, Katsuya!” His voice was low and sounded oddly thick, as if there was something jammed down his throat. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jounouchi snarled, his fists clenched. 

“Watch it. Is that really how you wanna welcome your old man?”

Malik’s eyes widened. He glanced between the two, suddenly noticing the similarities in their facial structure. The man’s irises were even the same shade of amber, though they lacked any trace of Jounouchi’s warmth.

“How the fuck did you find me?” Jounouchi asked.

The man chuckled and tapped a gnarled finger to his temple. “You overhear a lot of interesting things downtown when there’s Duel Monsters shit going on.” He staggered forward, lips stretched into a mocking smile. “Don’t tell me you were trying to keep a low profile? You know your ugly mug gets plastered onto every screen in the city whenever you enter those tourneys, right?”

Judging by Jounouchi’s dumbfounded expression, no. No, he didn’t.

He dismissed the accusation with a scoff and continued towards their apartment, pointedly ignoring his father’s presence. Malik quietly trailed behind him, a slew of questions brewing. While waiting for Jounouchi to find his keys, he caught sight of the man leering at him through the window’s reflection. Malik cleared his throat and tried to mask his disgust, shuffling closer to Jounouchi and dropping his voice below a whisper.

“Hurry up.”

“I’m doing what I can Mal,” Jounouchi hissed. 

“Who’s the skirt?” his father asked.

Malik now had the very strong urge to beat the guy using his own leg, an idea his other self would have wholeheartedly encouraged if he had any way of voicing his approval. He let out a shaky breath and kept his eyes forward, determined to keep his temper in check. It would be hard to explain the noise to the neighbours.

Not to mention the blood stains.

Jounouchi managed to get the door open and silently urged Malik to get inside. Although the offer was tempting, Malik felt wrong leaving Jounouchi to deal with his father by himself. Perviness aside, there was something disturbingly familiar about him that Malik couldn’t quite place. 

“You’re seriously not gonna invite me in?” he asked, his words slurring into a muddled soup. “Your own dad? After all the shit I’ve done for you—”

“It’s _because_ of all the fucking shit you did that you’re not coming in!” Jounouchi spat, whirling around and shoving him into the guardrail before Malik could stop him. 

“Me?! What about the old hag that walked out on you?”

“Are you serious? She left because of _you!”_

“Oh, so everything’s my fault, huh?”

“What the fuck do you think? _I’m_ not the jackass who spent all of mom’s fucking money on booze and horse racing!” Jounouchi pushed him again and this time the impact was hard enough to make Malik wince.

His father glanced over his shoulder and ground out a throaty laugh. “What are you gonna do? Knock me off this thing?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jounouchi growled. 

Malik tensed. Empty words or not, he wasn’t about to let Jounouchi ruin his life for this man — it sounded like he’d already done enough damage as is.

“That’s enough,” he said, grabbing Jounouchi’s hood and yanking him towards the door. “Yoshida’s going to file another damn noise complaint against us if this keeps up. Get inside.”

“Mal, relax, I wasn’t actually gonna—”

“Now!” Malik snapped. He turned to Jounouchi’s father without bothering to hide his revulsion. “If you don’t get the hell out of here in the next thirty seconds, I’m calling the police.”

The man sneered, eyeing Malik like a slab of meat. "You really think they’ll believe a foreigner’s word over mine? I’ll just tell them you bullied me out of my son’s house."

"Try it," Malik said, refusing to be intimidated by someone who smelled like a public washroom. "I've got more connections than your beer battered brain can fathom. One word from me and they'll hunt you down and make it look like you never existed."

"Is that a threat?"

"Are you willing to risk finding out?"

Malik slammed the door shut, uninterested in hearing his answer. He stayed standing long enough to replace the locks before slowly sinking to the floor, his face covered in a cold sweat. There was definitely something about that man that made his skin crawl. He flexed his fingers and pinched the back of his hand to keep himself grounded, worried by the building pressure in the back of his skull.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Malik got to his feet and peeked through the window to see if Jounouchi’s father was still outside, his phone at the ready. Thankfully, it seemed that he’d wandered off, but Malik wouldn’t be completely convinced until he stayed gone for at least another hour.

Behind him, Jounouchi was buzzing around the apartment like a hummingbird on caffeine, collecting an assortment of random items and laying them onto the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing?” Malik asked.

“We’re getting out of here. Start packing.”

“...Excuse me?”

Jounouchi pulled a rolling suitcase from the closet space above his laundry nook, wiping off a layer of dust and tossing it onto the floor. “I’m not staying here.” 

Malik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were leaving? Just like that? 

“Why?”

“He knows where I am. His unwashed ass is gonna keep coming here begging for cash until I fucking snap.” He shot Malik an apologetic look, though the latter had no idea why. “No offense.”

“Can’t we call the—”

“The cops won’t do anything,” Jounouchi said tersely. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m his son; all they’ll do is lecture me about respecting my elders and the importance of family obligations or some shit.”

“Except I’m pretty sure stalking someone is considered a crime,” Malik said, resting a hand on his hip. “Where the hell would we even go? A hotel?”

“Ryou’s.”

“Ry— His place is a fucking shoebox!” he whined. “Not to mention it’s a bitch getting to the train station from there; that’ll add at _least_ another twenty minutes to my commute!”

Jounouchi unzipped his suitcase and began piling things inside. “Alright. You want me to ask Yuugi instead? The Game Shop’s added a bunch of extra space since its renovation.”

“...I’ll call Ryou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that starting from chapter 13, **the rating for this fic will change to M in preparation for some of the later chapters.** I also wanted to mention that the ‘canon-typical violence’ tag is in reference to the manga canon... :’3 
> 
> I always thought Malik sounded super cute when he was in Namu mode 🥺 I actually grew up with the Japanese version of Duel Monsters, so hearing the difference between Malik’s voice in Japanese and English was really jarring. I definitely prefer his original voice; I think it fits his appearance much better. Yami Malik’s too! I can’t help but ‘aww’ whenever I hear his lines in Duel Links lol
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! As always kudos, thoughts, and comments are greatly appreciated ^^


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